The Broom Bearing Baggins of Bag End
by Wynni
Summary: We have all seen female hobbit insert stories, but let's face it: not a one of them have treated the first meeting the way it'd really happened if a bunch of dwarves made free in a feisty lady's home. Here's how that would have really happened. Alternate universe, fem!bilbo. Cover by the awesome EmilyAeren of deviantart.
1. Batter up!

**A/N: Okay, we've all seen female hobbit inserts out the yin yang, but I've yet to see one portray an accurate representation of what would happen should a group of dwarves try to invade an independent minded woman's home. Here ya go. **

**Just so's you know, the answer to 'What's your weapon? Sword or axe?" Bofur replies 'Well, she's right handy with a broom." That's what kind of story this is. Oneshot for now.**

Beryl Baggins was nobody's fool. That daft wizard was up to something, and she certainly knew he wasn't giving up just because she said no. What did he mean, asking her on an adventure? She had responsibilities right here that needed tending. People depended on her. Still, it made her wonder what his next move would be. It was sure to be an eye opener. Gandalf the Grey was not known for subtlety.

By dinnertime, she knew. She was mildly irritated by dwarf number one, a big, bald lumbering brute that seemed to barely comprehend speech. By dwarf two, she was sorely irritated, but when those two scamps showed up on her porch, it was time for action. Beryl grabbed her trusty broom.

The immaculate white haired dwarf quickly saw which way the wind was blowing and beat a hasty retreat for the door. The two scamps yelped rather satisfactorily, while the brute roared his approval of her daring, even as he laughed himself out her front door.

"My dear Beryl Baggins, whatever is the matter?" He wasn't a wizard for nothing. Gandalf appeared as if out of thin air. She was sure though, he had picked a good vantage to watch the unfurling farce. He didn't show himself until twelve dwarves were stymied at her front door by broom. The laughter under his voice was proof enough.

"Master Gandalf, I can assume you have something to do with this unruly bunch descending upon my house?" Her boiling brown eyes stabbed at his usual grey shrouded self assurance, but caused no visible consternation she could see.

"I did, my dear. I had hoped to show them the wonders of hobbit hospitality." He stroked his long beard thoughtfully, cocking a bushy eyebrow at her in reproach. It met with no visible success, either. Long friendships had their advantages.

"Well, hobbit hospitality is much easier to render when one knows they're coming, AND said guests have the sense to respect the host's home." A few of the perpetrators that had actually made it in had the decency to look abashed. Certain dwarves would be cleaning her front hallway before they sat down to supper, AND her mother's sewing kit they'd used to scrape off their muddy boots.

"Now, that being understood, it's easy to see you chaps have traveled a ways. Clean your boots there on the hedgehog scraper, and I'll round you up a proper meal, IF you boys will behave yourselves." Now that her anger had abaited a bit, she took in their bedraggled and somewhat road weary appearance, causing her conscience to twinge. "You look like you could do with a proper bedrest to boot."

Thorin could not believe his eyes. The directions he'd been given were fairly worthless. The number of hillside homes, round green doors, and 'mighty oaks' were mind numbing in the Shire. However, there was no mistaking a company of dwarves being held at bay by one hobbit lass, forcing each and every one to scrape their boots at broom point. Seeing the mighty Dwalin bend to the tiny termagant was enough to wonder if Gandalf might actually know what he was about. He had fully expected his brash dwarves to utterly cow the gentle little hobbit. He sat a long while astride his pony, chuckling at the unlikely sight.

Her hallway and kit had been dutifully restored while she laid the table out the first time. By the fifth time she reloaded the table, Beryl was amazed to have found appetites to rival the hungriest of hobbits. Dwarves did not have stomachs. They had bottomless pits. Beryl's patience and energy were flagging by the sixth reload.

As she finally sagged against a wall in unadmitted defeat, a young dwarf with a shy demeanor came to her. "Excuse me, Miss, but what should I do with my plate?"

"Oi, we're handling that. Mistress Baggins, why don't you take a seat while we tend cleanup?" The blonde scamp suggested with mischief twinkling in cobalt blue eyes.

"Aye, ye've fair tuckered yourself out. We'll handle cleanup, why don't you take a seat here by the fire with Gandalf, while we show our appreciation?" A dwarf with a lilting cadence and the most ridiculous hat maneuvered her into the comfy chair by the fire, where Gandalf rested a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Do I want to know what they're doing in my kitchen?"

"Probably not. They feel they owe you on two accounts, and are quite possibly settling them in the only way they may."

Just then Beryl heard the most horrid metallic screech. "Mercy above, please don't let that be what it sounds like. I had a time of it getting my knives sharpened properly the last time they were blunted."

_Then_ the song started. Beryl watched her dishes sailing past the door, mischief and devilish grins alight on young faces hurtling her fine dinnerware like jugglers' balls down the hall to the kitchen.

Several times she tried to get up, and each time, the wizard's heavy hand stopped her. She wasn't exactly sure what she could accomplish did she make it to her feet, except to think by the end of it, she'd need a new broom.

Finally the wizard let her up, as the song wound to a close, and Beryl marched into her kitchen to find it spotless. Dwarvish laughter surrounded her as her dropped jaw and wide eyes made it clear they'd managed to gull her. " Oh, you, you!" Beryl sputtered incoherently to silence, and finally caught her breath. A small smile fought its way clear to grace her face. "Well done, you rascals. Well done." Which only made them roar even louder with laughter. In fact, they were so loud, they almost missed the knock at the door.

"He's here." Beryl bustled off towards the door. She wondered who "He" was that would have Gandalf of all people talking in hushed tones. "He" who?

Oh indeedy, "he" who! He had to be the most resplendent thing Beryl ever laid eyes on. A mane of coal black hair surrounded a strong face with fine patrician features. Blue eyes to put the blonde scamp's to shame regarded her thoughtfully as he studied her. "Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. Were it not for our hostess here holding the company at bay, I might never have found it." Beryl was so busy blushing, she almost missed the small smile that graced his mouth.

"Thorin Oakenshield, allow me to introduce our hostess, Miss Beryl Baggins. Miss Baggins, this is the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield."


	2. A Dragon Ain't Gin

**A/N: Well, I guess Beryl had more to say on the subject. I guess we'll see how far this goes before she shuts up, eh?**

* * *

Beryl was self aware enough to realize this one intimidated her no little bit. However, the second he strutted into her home as if he owned it, her dander was up and running. Her shoulders squared, her chin came up, and her fingers twitched for her broom. Several dwarves backed away. Whether to get out of the battle zone or to claim a better view, not even Gandalf could say. Beryl figured possibly both.

"So, you're the hobbit."

"And you're a dwarf. Now that's settled, what of it?" Beryl crossed her arms over her chest. Unfortunately, this drew attention where she didn't want it, so settled for putting her fists on her hips.

All that blasted dwarf did was cock an eyebrow and smile at her as he twirled his heavy cloak off onto a hook near the door. "You're spirited, I'll give you that, but are you battle ready? Axe or sword?"

Bofur, of the ridiculous hat, couldn't resist. "Well, she's right handy with a broom. I can tell ye that." The laughter and aye's that drew had Beryl blushing to her roots.

"A broom, do you think a broom would do against orcs or trolls?" The maddening dwarf dared cock a supercilious brow at her. She returned the favor, which the arrogant git seemed to find humorous. She just couldn't help herself, her mouth ran off with her.

"Well, it held off twelve dwarves right well enough." The quick answer had the dwarves roaring in mirth. Thorin gave the young woman in front of him a more thorough onceover . Her head was crowned with wild brown curls valiantly escaping the severe bun she'd tried to tame them. Bright brown eyes regarded him with no fear. She had the straightest brows he'd ever seen, and unlike most hobbits, a long, high bridged nose. The generous mouth though, that was typical of most hobbits he'd seen, along with the plump cheeks. The stubborn chin and scowl were unexpected. She was shaping up to be full of surprises. He couldn't help thinking again that she might do for this venture after all.

Her clothes were nothing less than one would expect of a hobbit of means: full sleeved, pristine white shirt; ladylike wool waistcoat in deep blue, full peach colored skirts. They were modest, well tailored, and without a single bow or frippery. They spoke of comfort, breeding, and a mind boggling practicality.

Beryl had enough of standing in hallways, and didn't care for his calculating appraisal. "Look, we can spend the rest of the night here trading barbs, or you can go seat yourself at the table while I heat up a meal for you. Coming?" Thorin could only bow to his hostess and follow her lead.

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

Never did Beryl think the day would come she'd have to escape her own hobbit hole, but escape she needed, and there was no place like her garden to escape to when in this much turmoil.

A Dragon!

Gandalf thought she, of all people, was fit to take on a dragon. That opinion was a bit much even for her to swallow. What was that wizard thinking? Beryl threw her arms over the garden railing, letting the soft night air soothe her roiling thoughts.

"Is this the same hobbit that chased four dwarves, including the mighty Dwalin, from her home with a mere broom? I never thought I'd see you run from battle, Lady." Beryl raised her head from her folded arms to see merry blue eyes and dashing dimples smiling at her from the shadows. She so did not need the blonde scamp cajoling her now.

"I'm regrouping. Finding out your friend since childhood wants to feed you to a dragon with a helping of dwarves on the side is a bit much to take in all at once." Chuckling softly, the blonde dwarf joined her against the fence rail.

"That sounds more like. I didn't know what to make of the defeated young woman of a minute ago." The dwarf casually drew out his pipe, filling, tamping, and lighting it. He drew in deeply, and let the smoke float out over the bucolic serenity spread before them in the moonlight.

"Defeated? Hah! Twas but a momentary overwhelming." That knowing, smirking glance deflated Beryl on the spot. She laid her head back down on her folded arms, letting it take her full weight. "Alright, so I still feel overwhelmed. Ask me to solve a centuries long feud between two hardheaded old curmudgeons? Yes, I can do that. Ask me to balance the church budget while managing my own family? Yes, I can do that. Organize the family reunion right after juggling the Spring Market Fair the week prior? I can do that.

"but take on a dragon that decimated two peoples? I don't know. It's so outside of anything I ever imagined having to handle, I just….don't know." Beryl hung there over the rail like washing left on the line. Her companion patted her back in sympathy.

"Gandalf believes you are the only one capable of giving this venture hope. If a wizard believes you can do it, who are you to doubt yourself?"

"The one person that knows me better than a wizard?" Again that soft chuckle. Beryl felt it caress her nerves, soothing their frazzled edges better than the soft scents of her flowers. Beryl took quick stock of herself.

"Now, I know I can get you lot there. I know how to plan a trip, plan for any emergency, but dealing with a dragon? What experience could I compare that to? I don't know the first thing about dragons, and all that talk about sneaking and burgling! I've never!"

"Gandalf did mention you never lost a game of hide and seek. There was also something about Old Bristlemyer's gin…" the sputtering indignation was well worth the blow to his shoulder. The young dwarf was set laughing again.

"I was returning it! That daft cousin of mine, Paladin, thought it'd be a lark to try it for himself. I was trying to keep that plonker out of trouble." For good measure, Beryl gave him one more good shove in the shoulder, nearly tumping him over. "I also got caught. Hardly proof I'd succeed against a dragon."

"Ah, but how many times did you not get caught?" Again, moonlight caught dimples winking in the dark, nearly a match for the silver clasps winking in his braided mustache. Beryl'd never seen its like. Who braids a mustache?

She raised her head, squinting at him in the moonlight. "Alright, I'm not going to keep calling you 'Blonde Scamp.' Which one are you?" He guffawed so hard, she worried he'd lose his place on the rail. It was a nasty fall over the side of her hill.

"Is that what you've been calling me?" Did nothing spoil this one's humor?

"It's nicer than some of the others." The dry tone did not escape unnoticed.

"I can imagine. Fili, son of Dis, sisterson to Thorin Oakenshield." He waited.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" There it was.


	3. I'm a What?

**A/N: I was more than a little nervous about posting this chapter, but it all flowed so logically, and so many of the clues were already there in Tolkien, I just couldn't help myself. Hopefully, I won't have lost any readers after this chapter, but if I do, well, I can't say I blame you. I just followed where the storyline took me, and then retraced my steps, trying to find where I went wrong...Never did find the trail back.**

* * *

Whatever else she might have been about to say was interrupted by the low rumbling sound of music mixed with dwarfish singing. Beryl whirled as if stung. She knew that tune. How did the dwarves know it?

"Fili? Why are they singing my great gran's lullabye?" Honestly confused brown eyes regarded Fili steadily, expecting him to solve the mystery.

"You must be joking, that's the _Lament of Erebor_." A perfectly round smoke ring floated lazily on the night breeze, as if dancing slowly to the music rolling out of her hobbit hole in wide melodic waves.

"The what?"

Fili sang to her. His low, velvet voice blending with the instruments wafting from her home into a spell all its own. It wove a tale of the greatness that was Erebor. It sang of the metals and magic and beauty crafted there under the mountain. It sang of life in the mountain: the laughter, triumphs and tragedies, all brought crashing down by the greed of a dragon, sweeping away kith and kin just to claim the riches won from the earth by Dwarfish sweat and skill.

His song spoke to Beryl as nothing else ever had. She wanted to feel the metal take shape under her hammer, to walk the deep paths of Erebor, and win back the mountain from a greedy dragon that had no business stealing it in the first place.

For a moment, Beryl wanted to be a heroine. She wanted to stand victorious over the dragon, earn the dwarves gratitude for winning back their mountain, hear the songs and tales sung of her bravery. She could see it clearly in her mind's eye, and then somewhere off in the distance, a cow lowed, and she was just plain Beryl Baggins again, who had a Ladies Committee tomorrow and no time to run off with dwarves after dragons or mountains. She was very glad for the rail's support just then. She felt wrung out and confused.

"You look like you could use a sit down, and probably some tea." Fili carefully tapped the ashes out of his pipe, and tucked the thing back in his furry jacket. The other hand was already gently turning Beryl around to escort her back into her own house. The irony was not lost on her.

"Fili, I do know the way in to my own home."

"Yes, but how often do you think I'll offer to play gentleman? Allow me this once?"

"Alright, you blonde scamp."

"Some evening, I might just ask you what you named everyone."

"Fine, and I'll answer. Right now, I want to know why Gran's lullaby's the same tune as that Lament."

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

"Really, Beryl, you can't guess?" Gandalf took his ease in the wide armchair by the fire. His pipe occasionally adding smoke rings to those already wreathing his head. Thorin leaned against the mantle, arms folded as he regarded her with calculating eyes. The rest of the dwarves arranged themselves comfortably around her den, watching the discussion as if it were for their entertainment.

"Humor me. Why are the tunes the same." Beryl never took her eyes off Gandalf. She was about done with surprises and word games. She wanted answers.

"How familiar are you with your family history on the Took side?" Gandalf asked the question without much inflection, exactly as if asking no more than how the current crops might grow this summer.

"There were tales the First Took had a fairy wife, and every gather, Granther trots out the tale of Bullroarer Took. That's about it." Beryl's patience was growing thin. Gandalf's need for showmanship was starting to wear out its welcome.

"Refresh my memory about Bullroarer, if you please." She had to take a deep breath to keep her composure.

"Well, he was big, so big he could ride a proper horse. He fought in the Battle of Green Fields and knocked a goblin chief's head clear off his shoulders."

"Does that sound very hobbitish, to you, Beryl Baggins?" Suddenly, it wasn't just Gandalf's sharp eyes regarding her, but every dwarf in the room. It made her uncomfortable.

"Sounds almost like a dwarf." Bofur was carelessly twirling his clarinet. His insightful comment spoken as if to the instrument in his hands.

"Dwarf or no, I'd drink with him." Was that approval from stolid Dwalin? Beryl thought she might have to mark the calendar.

"Very Dwarvish indeed, Bofur." Gandalf's keen gaze, if possible, became even sharper. Beryl felt the bottom of her belly drop out. He couldn't be suggesting what she thought he was suggesting.

"Bother and befuddlement, First Took didn't marry a fairy…" Beryl couldn't finish, not with thirteen of them watching her like a bug under glass.

"No indeed. He married a dwarf." Gandalf said it calmly, as if passing the time of day.

The uproar was instantaneous. Apparently, the idea a Dwarf maid would even dream of marrying outside her people was enough to incite violence. Had anyone but Gandalf said those words, he may not have escaped unscathed. But it was Gandalf that said them, and Gandalf did not lie.

"Beryl, would you sing your lullabye for these gentlemen? Perhaps that might put to rest the last of their objections."

Fili, having some idea of what was coming, limbered up his bow and fiddle for her, offering accompaniment. Beryl nervously stood, feeling much like a young hobbit at her first recital, and sang as her Gran had sung it to her.

_Far over, the Misty Mountains roam_

_To a Hill, I'll call my own_

_and there I'll stay, for all my days_

_and will there make my home_

_The stars were shining in the night,_

_and the moon, offered its pale light_

_no more to say, I must away_

_No way left to make this right_

"No.." The immaculate white haired dwarf, that Beryl had learned was Balin, looked as if all the breath had been knocked out of him.

"The Exile's song." Ori, the small and shy dwarf, breathed the words as if he could barely believe them, and stared at her with wide eyes. Beryl felt the temperature in the room drop ten degrees, and felt horribly vulnerable. She felt her fingers twitch again for her trusty broom.

Gloin, the least pleasant of the bunch, said something rude sounding in their language and stalked out of the room.

"Anyone care to explain all this to me?" Thorin would not look at her, he glared resolutely into the hearth, as if the answer to all his woes were hidden in the dancing flames. All the other dwarves were in various states of surprise, disbelief, and discomfort. None would meet her gaze or answer her question.

"Lass, your ancestor was one of the Exiles." Oin finally said, as if it cleared everything up.

"Okay, that still tells me nothing." Beryl waited patiently for edification. She cut her eyes quickly to the wizard. He seemed to be taking great pleasure in the dwarves' discomfiture. She always knew he had a devilish streak. She took this turn of events as proof positive.

"One of the Great Houses of Moria, their patriarch made a bid for the High Seat, and lost. They were exiled, not long before Moria fell to darkness." Balin's voice sounded heavy, as if each word took great effort to get past his mouth.

"and that means?" Honestly, how long were they going to draw out the suspense? When did this turn into a penny farce? Beryl's patience was dangling by a mere thread at this point.

"Congratulations, Lass, yer a Dwarven princess." Bless you Dwalin, for being a blunt one was the last thought Beryl had before her consciousness decided to take a break from the crazy.

* * *

**Still with me? Cause I can promise you, it's only gonna get wilder from here.**


	4. Proposal and Counterproposal

**A/N: Bless your lovely supportive Reviews. Hope this latest offering is to your liking**

* * *

As her pony trudged along behind Balin's, Beryl had plenty of time to reconsider just exactly how she wound up in this circus. The answer could be boiled down to one unmistakable fact. Gandalf was a rotten cheat. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist digging up everything she could about this new facet of her heritage, and he knew the only answers lay with the dwarves. Which meant she had to go with them, or leave her curiosity to run wild.

All those Old Wives had it wrong. It wasn't just curiosity that killed the cat, but curiosity unfulfilled. Beryl had no intentions of ever being a dead cat. Except, she could not understand why she had fainted. That was one curiosity she had no way to satisfy. It wasn't like her. It mortified her no end that the first and only time she ever fainted was in front of those pesky dwarves.

Why then? Why, when it seemed she had the most to prove, did her stamina have to let her down in such a dramatic way?

She still couldn't tell whether Thorin's snarky smirk or Dori's smothering attention was more mortifying. If poor sweet Ori had to deal with that on a regular basis, she truly sympathized with his plight. Old Mother Bracegirdle could take lessons from Dori. Mother hens could take lessons from Dori, truth be told. He had cosseted her to within an inch of her life, and she'd have been happy to return the favor, but her broom had mysteriously disappeared while she was unconscious. She had a feeling that sneaky devil Nori had a hand in that.

No, the biggest mindboggler was yet to come. Once she'd finally won free of the nineteen blankets Dori had wrapped around her, and demanded to go with the Company, whether they wanted her or not, Balin had approached her.

"Lassie, you do realize you'll be traveling in the company of thirteen dwarves." Balin struck her as a normally fairly self assured dwarf. Now, he was acting very hesitant. It didn't sit well. She wondered what subject he could be trying to broach that would cause him that much discomfort.

"Yes, I had noticed." Beryl kept her answers as neutral as possible, wondering where the verbal pitfall was, and continued to pack her bags for the trip.

"And you are an unattached young Lady."

"Yes, I was aware of that as well." She really didn't like the turn this conversation was taking. It sounded very like when Lobelia was making her case for why Beryl should marry her boy. Just the memory of that dough faced clod made Beryl shudder. Not only was her son personally offensive, but she didn't approve of cousins marrying, even if they were third degree.

"Then are you also aware of how unseemly it is for a young lady of breeding to go on such a venture unchaperoned." Balin had both hands behind him, rocking on the balls of his feet in a manner much like a barrister making a case.

"Balin, say what you mean plainly, please?" Beryl cracked her back as she straightened up from packing her bag, stretching out the kinks. Balin took a deep breath and finally got to the point.

"I would offer the protection of my name, lass, to spare your reputation." Beryl, even half expecting it, still felt poleaxed. She took a deep breath, and then another, scrambling to put her thoughts in order.

Beryl swallowed her knee jerk reply. She had to remind herself Balin meant well. She reminded herself again for good measure, before opening her mouth. She did not want to offend him, but she wasn't about to tie herself down now, either. If she could sidestep the matchmaking biddies of the Shire this long, she could sidestep this conundrum as well. She hoped.

"Balin, I really don't know how to reply to such kindness." Beryl frantically searched her brain for words to politely refuse.

"You could accept my suit, lass." He reminded her gently. She could, only he made her think of her granther and great uncles with his gentle dignity and snow white hair. Shave that glossy beard, and he could be any number of her relations for which she had soft fuzzy feelings. Those feelings were totally inappropriate in regards to matrimony.

If ever Beryl fell prey to that institution, it would not be for anything less than love, total, consuming, and unconditional romantic head-over-heels love.

"Balin, I truly do appreciate what you're offering, but I cannot in good conscience accept. I wouldn't know the first thing about being a proper wife, and you've no idea what you'd be saddling yourself with. Honestly, I like you too much to put you through that." She offered him a friendly smile. "Whacking pesky dwarves with a broom is the least of my many faults."

Balin nodded his head in a knowing manner, a soft depreciative smile shadowing his countenance. "Aye lass, I thought that might be your answer, but my honor insisted it be offered regardless."

"Well, what says the only way you can see to your honor and my reputation is by marriage?" Balin cut his eyes sideways at the wiley hobbit lass. "What are you suggesting?"

"Well, while I might be a long lost princess," Beryl had a very hard time getting that out without choking on it. "Thorin is still King, is he not? Could he not appoint you my guardian? Then I'll have a proper chaperone with all the niceties observed, and whatever reputation I have would be protected." No need to mention she had precious little reputation left. She'd proudly earned the title 'blue stocking' ages ago, and no proper hobbit husband would have her now. That was fine, she'd never cared for the idea of a proper husband in the first place. She preferred deciding her fate for herself, meddling wizards notwithstanding.

Balin started to answer, then caught himself. Beryl could actually watch him think through what she proposed, and surprised himself by the outcome. The loveliest smile graced his face as he regarded her warmly.

"It so happens lass, your family were Longbeards before their Exile, and that would make you subject to Thorin's rule. Aye, this will work nicely, lass. Well done."

A few minutes with parchment and quill at her long table, a few words spoken by Thorin in front of the Company, and Beryl was once again saddled with a guardian. It was as if the past decade and a half she'd been her own mistress had never happened.

Before her mind could really sort through all the consequences, she felt a heavy hand land solidly on her shoulder. "Aye lass, glad to have you in the family, even if it's as a niece instead of a bride." Beryl's head whipped around to regard the massive Dwalin behind her.

"Excuse me?" Did he just intimate what she thought he did?

"Don't look so shocked. Any dwarf would be proud to call a woman that can hold her own as you did wife." Her stunned expression made him laugh outright. "But I'll be just as happy to call you niece. I have a feeling I'll be busting heads on your behalf soon enough."

So now, Beryl found herself on the road heading into Bree with a protective and gentlemanly guardian and a berserker uncle.

She wondered what other surprises were in store for her.


	5. Bandits, Brawls, and Bindings

**A/N: So, guess who's been a chatty Patty? Beryl pretty much hasn't hushed since I first asked her what she was up to. Your responses have been awesome and awe inspiring. Pretty sure your attention and response is what has kept Beryl talking.**

* * *

From her place behind Dwalin's broad back, Beryl heartily wished for her broom. Bandits decided thirteen dwarves, an old man, and wee girl would be easy pickings. Said bandits were currently getting their collective backsides handed to them, but not before doing a fair amount of damage themselves. Bifur was sporting an arrow in his shoulder, Fili had one in his thigh, and poor Nori had one in his upper arm. Not a one of them seemed slowed by it, as they were all hip deep in the fight anyways.

For Beryl's part, she wanted to help, and thoroughly resented dwarves tossing her between them like a sack of feed and treating her like a helpless moppet. Go hang her new status as a lost dwarven princess! Hand her a broom….or quarterstaff. She could work with a quarterstaff. Dwalin was forced back a step from blocking a nasty mattock swung at his head, forcing Beryl into the brush on the side of the road. She tucked her head and rolled down the steep bank. Better to climb back up than risk a break trying to keep her footing on the treacherous slope.

She lay for a moment, waiting for the world to quit spinning quite so fast. Tired of watching the clouds twirling, she turned her head and spotted a downed sapling. Beryl quickly stripped the spindly branches and leaves from it, and headed back topside to the fray. Balin and Oin were fighting back to back, three ragged men surrounding them, but unable to get past their twirling blade and staff. Beryl stuck her sapling between the legs of one bandit, and watched him fall backwards. She quickly rapped him across the back of the head. He did not move again.

"Lassie! What do you think you're doing?" Since when could Balin roar? Beryl swallowed hard, and bellowed right back.

"Evening the odds! What else?" She ducked as her bellow caught the attention of one of the remaining bandits. She deftly avoided the rusty blade with a roll to the left, coming up quickly to her feet. She needn't have bothered. Balin took the bandit down the moment his attention turned to her. Apparently, he was deadly serious about that guardianship.

"Get between us Lassie, now!" Balin and Oin moved to sandwich her, not giving her the opportunity to argue.

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves. I'm not helpless!"

"Then guard me back and quit yer yelpin!'" Oin once again had unwanted attention, and was busy blocking the twin blades of yet another bandit with his long staff. Beryl waited patiently, then tripped the bandit the moment his feet lined up for it. Oin cracked him in the head with his staff. One more bandit lay prone in the road.

"How many more are there?" Beryl was having a hard time seeing anything past Balin's whirling blade and Oin's twirling staff. The two dwarves seemed to be everywhere she was trying to look. Apparently, they decided the only way to keep her safe was to keep her sight line blocked, sneaky dwarves.

"Plenty." Balin was once again busy with two opponents. One of them carried a massive blacksmith's hammer, and the other had what looked like a great sword. Beryl didn't like those odds versus Balin's longsword. Whether he'd ever admit it or not, Balin would need her help. Thankfully, one of them was very bad about stancing himself with a knee forward. It was like a billiard ball taunting a cue stick. She was never one to ignore a taunt. One good crack later, and a bandit was curled on the ground nursing a broken kneecap. Balin now only had one opponent. That great sword was still worrisome, though.

"A little help here, lassie." Oin called over his shoulder. Whatever that was fighting him wasn't human, or wasn't purely human. It moved almost froglike and snarled like a wounded pig. It made Beryl shudder just to look at it. The thing managed to dive in between them, its attention still on Oin, so she clobbered it over the head, downing it as she had the other bandits. Oin spit on it. "Cursed goblin."

"Goblin? Like Bullroarer fought?"

"Very same. Though why bandits would work with a goblin, I've no idea." In the time it took Oin and Beryl to down the goblin, the rest of the fight was done. Bandits littered the road, some just unconscious, others didn't bear closer scrutiny. She saw a few more of the Company were now nursing wounds. That greatsword had managed to get past Balin's guard, and he now had a nasty cut across his chest. Bombur had a cut that still trickled into his eye, and Kili had his right arm folded tight against him.

"What is this?" Thorin was now standing over them, nudging the prone goblin with one of his heavy boots.

"You'd know better than I would, Thorin. Oin called it a goblin." She thumped her staff against the ground and leaned against it. The battle done, she was bone tired of a sudden.

"What would bandits be doing allying themselves with goblins?" Fili was now nursing his wounded thigh, the protection adrenaline had afforded him during battle having left him, he was now limping and in pain.

"Well, one things for certain. We'll get no answers standing here in the road, and we've wounded that need tending." It was amazing how well Oin could hear when it mattered. Arrow shafts were removed and wounds bound. Beryl found herself sacrificing a few petticoats to help with the binding. It would do no good to head to Bree if a dwarf fell off his pony before they got there from blood loss. It wasn't as if she minded greatly. She didn't see much petticoat wearing in her near future.

And oh, wasn't that fun, when she first came out in her sensible trousers? Dori nearly had heart palpitations then and there. She watched several of the dwarves cover their mouths to stifle their laughter, when she calmly explained that trousers were much more suited to the trials ahead. She did pack a few pretties, just to soothe his wounded sensibilities, but the greater portion was devoted to thick trousers and sensible shirts.

Beryl pulled the makeshift bandage tight around Kili's slashed shoulder. He sucked in a deep breath, but didn't complain. Beryl had to fight a smile. Silly tough acting dwarves, wouldn't do to admit it hurts around a mere girl, now, would it? "There, I think that'll hold till we can get to the healers in Bree." She gently patted his back, well away from the wound site.

"Thank you. You were quite a sight yourself out there. Quite handy with a staff." Kili was gingerly rolling his shoulder, testing its soreness and how well the bandage would hold. He cut a guarded look at Beryl, testing the waters verbally as carefully as his shoulder.

"Well, I had to have some way to keep my cousins in line, now, didn't I?" Beryl gave him a small smile. "I told you I wouldn't be a bother or useless weight."

"You did at that. Tell me, is it true you refused a suit from Balin?" Now where the blimey blue blazes did that question come from? Beryl busied herself folding the remainder of the petticoat while she puzzled out an answer. She was sure they'd need bandages again before this trip was over.

"Now, why would you ask a question like that?"

"To gauge my chances, should I make an offer."


	6. Pokes, Spokes, and Dropsies

**A/N: Bless you all for the lovely reviews. I sincerely believe the feedback is what keeps this story rolling so well. I promised I'd have a new chappie out within two days. So, here it is!**

* * *

Beryl's head came up so fast she felt the muscles of her neck protest. He wasn't giving her that toothy grin that was so contagious, but that puppy eyed serious look. She felt a funny little flip in her belly, and her temper woke up. She might have been alright, if he'd been openly teasing, but no, he was pretending to be serious, playing with her feelings. _How dare he!_

Kili's sense of self preservation was apparently working just fine. He started awkwardly crabbing back from her as fast as he wounded shoulder would allow at the first sign her temper went south.

"I can't help but wonder, Master Dwarf, what you and yours are playing at." Beryl stalked him, tapping her sapling against her palm. "First I'm supposed to believe I'm some long lost Dwarven princess, then an offer of marriage to protect my reputation, another because I'd dare take a broom to invaders in my home, and now you? Why? Because I won't sit around waiting to be rescued. Or" Here she poked him in the stomach with her sapling. The muffled oof was thoroughly satisfying. "Or maybe a bunch of bored Dwarves are seeing just how gullible the Hobbit is. Now which do you think is more likely?" She jabbed him again for good measure. "I mean it! No more Dwarvish games, or so help me, I'll need a new staff and you'll be walking funny!" Beryl stormed off, leaving in her wake one very flummoxed Kili.

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

"Beryl, you have looked like an approaching storm all day. Whatever is the matter?" Beryl looked over to the old wizard, his concern plainly visible.

"I let my temper get the better of me. The Dwarves have been having fun at my expense, and I finally snapped at Kili."

"What have they been doing?" Hard to imagine the wizard had no clue, but Beryl took him at his word. She told him her thoughts on the whole princess thing and the three marriage offers so far. Gandalf took a long while answering, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe.

"What if, my fine Hobbit, they were not making fun of you?" Gandalf chuckled to himself as Beryl froze in her saddle. He counted a full minute before she turned to look at him.

"And what, pray tell, is suddenly different now from the previous thirty some odd years of my life, Gandalf?" Beryl looked over her shoulder at the dwarves behind them. Fili and Kili had their heads close together. It was clear they were talking about something and Fili would occasionally glance in her direction. Dwalin seemed intent on what the two were on about, his and Balin's ponies behind the two scamps in their caravan. Balin seemed amused by them. She idly wondered what that was all about, but turned her attention back to Gandalf. "I can't imagine what has magically changed between now and before you and your Dwarf infestation!"

"Absolutely nothing has changed about you, Miss Baggins. What has changed is the expectations of the interested parties." Gandalf seemed to be having fun playing the part of the cryptic advisor.

"Would you please care to elaborate?"

"What makes a good wife to a Dwarf is nothing like what makes a good wife to a Hobbit." Gandalf puffed contentedly. "I would think that would be plain enough."

"So I'm every Dwarf's dream wife?" Derision dripped from every word. It was enough to make Gandalf wince slightly.

"Dream wife? I wouldn't go that far, my dear Baggins. Balin truly was concerned for your reputation. I think your solution was a bigger relief to him than he'd care to admit aloud. Dwalin, well, there's no telling with that one. You did impress him, but he hardly seems heartbroken." Gandalf slid a careful glance over to Beryl, watching how she took his words. Beryl was deep in thought, considering what she learned.

"I think he just likes having another excuse to fight." Beryl looked back over her shoulder. Fili and Kili still had their heads close together, and Dwalin resembled a looming thunderhead more and more. What could they discussing? Whatever it was, it looked like Dwalin was ready to finish it for them.

"There may be something to that estimation." Gandalf turned to see what had caught her attention. He turned back around, busily puffing his pipe. Beryl's eyebrows rose in high humor. Never let it be said the wizard had neither a sense of humor, or a panache for understatement.

"And Kili?" Beryl studied the road ahead, not looking at the wizard nor behind her.

"I'm not sure. He doesn't look like a Dwarf whose heart's been crushed." Gandalf took his time answering. Maybe he was turning over what he knew about the Dwarf before answering. "I think it far more likely to have been a spur of the moment offer, brought on by the fight and the perceived challenge you presented by turning down Balin."

"What would a heart broken Dwarf even look like?"

"My dear Beryl, I hope you never know." This time, Beryl didn't notice Gandalf looking behind them to watch Fili's eyes on her back.

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

Between the exhaustion of the fight and the various battle wounds, Beryl thought it would be a fairly quiet ride the rest of the way into Bree. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The Dwarves were in high fettle. The jokes, battle descriptions (sometimes with near disastrous reenactments), and laughter continued the whole way into town proper.

Beryl was completely out of her element. She'd never been further from home than Buckland to visit family. Bree was a whole new world for her. She'd thought Gandalf had to be the tallest person ever, but here, there were people that were as tall or taller. For the first time, she felt small and insignificant. The Dwarves had no such impediments. They were apparently used to Mannish villages, because they carried on talking and japing same as on the road. For once, Beryl envied them.

Thorin halted the company at the Town Square. Gandalf left Beryl's side to ride up beside him. "Why have we stopped here?"

"I thought, once here, it'd be plain where the Healer's Hall was located. Most towns have them near the square. None of these look right." Thorin swayed slightly in his saddle.

"Thorin!" Gandalf put a steadying hand to the Dwarf's shoulder."

"I'll be fine once we reach the Hall."

"Luckily, I've been there before." Gandalf, riding beside Thorin, guided them to a pleasant round timbered building just behind the Bree Town Hall. It was higher up the slope of a green rolling hill and gardens spread out all around it. Some looked like herb gardens, some held vegetables, but one looked to be purely for delight's sake. It even contained a small gazebo drowning in climbing roses.

"You there, can you help us? We have wounded from a bandit encounter." Gandalf hailed a small figure tending some rosemary.

"You will need to alert the guard. There's goblins amongst the bandits. They need to know." and with that final word, Thorin lost the battle with blood loss and fell off his pony at the feet of the reddest headed healer Beryl ever set eyes on.


	7. Midnight Revelations

**A/N: This chapter includes the marvelous Wren, kkolmakov's wondrous OC. Thank you, Kitty, for letting me borrow this treasure. Be sure you stop by her page (after you read this) if you need more Duriny goodness. Or Wrenny goodness. She has it in spades.**

* * *

The red headed healer, a tiny woman, fell to her knees, and quickly unbelted Thorin's brigandine, searching for what caused him to drop. "I will need packing and bandages now!" The gambeson was especially thick, and the healer lost patience, simply slicing it open with her pruning knife. Each subsequent layer met the same fate until she could reach skin, and then searched for the seeping wound.

Beryl was in motion the moment Thorin hit the ground, pulling free the petticoat remnant from her saddle bags. "Here, I've this handy."

"Hold it there, while I search for any other injuries." Beryl applied pressure with both hands across the shallow slash across his lower ribs. If he weren't already prone, she'd be tempted to kick his backside. The whole point in checking and binding on the road was to keep this from happening. He was certainly due a piece of her mind, once he woke up.

"That seems to be the only injury currently. We need to move him inside, where I can clean and treat the wound. Master Dwarves! Come help move him inside." The healer had assessed the dwarves, noticing Dwalin and Dori among the uninjured and stoutest. The two moved dutifully forward, and gently picked up their leader. "Follow me, and careful not to jostle."

They followed her into a large room, set with rows of clean beds fitted with snowy white linens. She waved them towards one near a corner, where a table was already laden with many of the necessities of a healer's trade.

Beryl then saw the best imitation of a drill sergeant outside of a militia. The healer had Dwarves running this way and that to collect hot water, collect more towels, bring this, that, and hold him still please, he is NOT going to like this.

She also managed to pick out who didn't need to be running, and browbeat several recalcitrant Dwarves into empty beds. Runners had fetched the other healers, who had left their dinner half eaten to come tend the influx of wounded Dwarves. Soon each wounded Dwarf had his own healer.

"Mistress Hobbit, how long has he been riding like this?" Beryl quickly joined the redhead. "Thank Maiar, you are a Hobbit, at least a wee bit less stubbornness."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. You've not seen her with her broom." Bofur, sitting next to Bifur, couldn't resist.

"At most, half a day. Will he recover?" Beryl answered as she'd been asked, staring daggers at Bofur who was suddenly busy translating for Bifur's healer and not meeting Beryl's gaze.

"I cannot say yet. Dwarves are sturdy, and that will help him. "

"Well, I'm no healer, but I've helped tend the sick before. I never met a healer that couldn't use another pair of hands. Just put me to work. Beryl Baggins, at your service." Beryl bobbed a small curtsy for the healer.

"Wren of Enedwaith, but I am afraid my services are going to be quite engaged with our stubborn Dwarf here. If he has not contracted a fever by nightfall, I shall be very much surprised."

Wren was not surprised. Beryl spent much of her time fetching cool water and more clothes and an herb from the garden that helped cool the skin. Thorin was restless and fitful. Toward midnight, he finally settled somewhat, though his fever still ran high. Wren did not leave his side, carefully monitoring his temperature, and ensuring he did not reopen his wound. Beryl gratefully took a seat nearest to her and Thorin in case she was needed. Fili seemed to be sleeping well, so wouldn't mind her there. About the time she laid her head back against the wall, Thorin started muttering in Khuzdul.

"Well isn't that interesting." Beryl nearly came out of her chair. Fili wasn't nearly as asleep as he'd pretended.

"What's interesting?" Beryl rubbed the back of her head, she'd smacked it hard against the wall when she startled.

"Let's simply say it's probably for the best he's talking in Khuzdul, or our fair healer there would be as red as her hair."

"What?" Beryl turned to give the blond scamp her full attention. His eyes were bright and his color high, but not from fever. That had been a worry. The arrow lodged in his thigh had managed to scrape bone. She was doubly thankful Oin had decided to cut it out rather than push it through. Fili could have wound up lame at best or bled out at worst. It was still a bad enough worry he was being kept in here overnight with the rest of the injured. Only Bombur's cut passed muster to be released. The rest of the injured found themselves overnighting in the infirmary. Kili was currently sulking himself to sleep in the next bed over. Butterbur's ale is apparently worth aggravating an injured shoulder.

Fili's smile grew. "If I'm hearing him aright, my dear uncle is properly smitten with yon healer."

"How does he even know? He seemed out of it since he hit the ground." Beryl was confused. He'd never gained consciousness that she could tell.

"You'd be surprised." Fili settled himself against the goose down pillows, both arms behind his head. " We were traveling with a caravan once, and Bofur took a fever as we crossed a swampy patch. He seemed completely unaware. Yet, once recovered, repeated back to us every conversation we had while watching over him. From the things Uncle was saying, I'd say something similar happened with him."

"Alright, I can see that. Now, how stubborn is he going to be about it?" Beryl was once again leaned back against the wall, watching Wren tend Thorin. Right now, she was bathing his face with a damp cloth.

"How do you mean?"

"If he's as gobsmacked as all that, will he actually pursue a relationship with her, or get all 'King Under the Mountainy' about it, trying to deny it exists?" Beryl watched as Thorin caught Wren's hand, and held it to his chest. "First I've seen him act this...feely."

Fili guffawed so hard he was wincing in pain. "I must remember even conversations with you come with their own perils." He shifted his leg on its pillow. "I've never seen Uncle like this. I honestly don't know." He thoughtfully considered the two they were discussing. "I've been thinking. We're not going to get this lucky again. What if we get this bunged up on the road, or Mahal preserve us, Oin gets injured? We need another healer."

"Oooh, you devious thing, and if the extra healer happens to be her? Well, Mr. Grumpypants will just about have to deal with it, won't he?" Fili choked on his laughter, his face turning a darling shade of red Beryl had not yet witnessed.

"Oh aye, we definitely need a healer with hands soothing as spring rain, or curls like coppered gold." Something in the flashing dimples warned Beryl someone was in a mood for further mischief, probably at her expense.

"What the deuce?" Beryl let her jaw drop. Who knew Dwarves could wax poetic?

"Want to know what else Uncle thinks about her?" Half closed eyes and that smug grin gave the impression of a cat in a creamery.

"I'm almost afraid to ask." Beryl folded her arms across her chest rather huffily.

"Bright eyes that flash like morning sun, a ripe mouth that begs for kisses…"

Beryl turned a critical eye on her conversation partner, cutting him off midflattery. "Uh huh, and that's all from Thorin's delirium, is it?"

"More or less, it may be a bit of a loose translation."

Beryl snorted. "Go to sleep you numpty. We may or may not be moving out tomorrow, but you'll need your rest all the same."

"And you?'

"If necessary, I'll sleep in the saddle."


	8. Two Birds with One Stone

**A/N: Bless your warm reviews. I try to message everyone that leaves one. If I missed you, feel free to message me. I'm a chatty thing ;) Now, on with the fun and games!**

* * *

Honestly, Beryl only meant to rest for just a minute in the bright sunshine and sweet scents of the garden. However, between the buzzing of bees and the lulling warmth of the sun, Beryl was out cold within minutes. It took the rumble of voices waking her...well, one voice rumbled, before Beryl realized she'd even fallen asleep.

"Your pardon, but it's time to check your bandages, Master Dwarf." The cool and collected voice could only belong to Wren.

"Thorin, Honorable Healer, it would please me if you called me Thorin." Beryl bit her fist to stifle the giggles. Nobody was ever given first name privileges that fast. Fili was right. Dast him, now she owed him ten silver.

"Alright, Thorin. You are welcome to call me Wren." There was a small pause. Beryl could imagine her gesturing gracefully at his wound or something like. " Would you prefer I checked them here or inside?" How was Wren managing to remain that calm? It must be something they were taught.

"Can you tend it here?" Beryl could just imagine that smile, fluffy lashes at half mast, and sinfully white teeth. Fili used it like a weapon. She surmised he'd learned that at Thorin's knee, probably before he learned to walk.

"I would not have offered if it were not so." Both were quiet for the longest, and Beryl's sharp ears barely made out the rustle of cloth and bandages being wrapped amidst the buzz and hum of a summer garden.

"Can you tell me what 'kalhul' means, Thorin? It is something you said many times in your fever." Her voice was still and calm, and Beryl wondered at her. If Beryl hadn't watched them last night, she would have thought Wren was asking out of nothing more than curiosity.

Beryl's eyes narrowed. Could Wren really be that clueless? One look at how Thorin's feverish eyes had drunk in Wren's face, how his hand had clung to hers, placing both over his heart, Fili, at least, had seen it clear as day then. Now that she thought on it, Thorin was definitely lovestruck as anything she'd ever seen. Was Wren, though? Beryl was tempted to peek at the two in the gazebo, to see if Wren's face gave anything away. It took all of her considerable willpower to fight her rabid curiosity down. If she so much as sneezed right now, she'd be found, and the moment would be lost. Those two would dry up faster than a keg at a Tavern.

Right now, though, it sounded like Thorin meant to cough his lungs out. Apparently, Wren's innocent question caught him by surprise. "It means, "fresh as spring water"." Dear mercy! Thorin, king of the Longbeards Thorin, was mumbling! Mumbling! If that didn't beat all.

"Only makes sense, I suppose, you were burning with fever." Wren, apparently, still had no clue. Beryl wanted to beat her own head against the soft grass. "Well," Beryl actually heard Wren catch herself here. "Thorin, in two days time, I should think this wound healed enough you would not reopen it riding. You may continue your journey then."

"Our journey cannot wait two days!" There was the roar. It almost reassured Beryl somewhat. Roar she knew how to handle. Cranky she knew how to handle. Feely Thorin, not so much.

"It will if you want your nephew to regain the full use of his leg again! It will if you do not wish to lose even more time falling prey to fever again!" Ooooh, the ginger could snap. The more Beryl heard of this healer, the more she liked her. Definitely needed her to come along. Now how to get Balin to write her a contract?

"Two days!" Beryl listened with glee as Thorin took a deep breath to reign that cranky temper in. "What might you suggest I do with myself for two days? I'm sure my usual pastimes are off limits."

"Do you play chess, Thorin?" Beryl could hardly contain herself. Maybe the healer wasn't as clueless as all that.

"I do." Beryl could almost see the raised eyebrow and half smile.

"Then I will be happy to help you stay occupied in such manner." Beryl imagined how Wren sailed out of the gazebo, head high while Thorin watched her go. It was almost like being privy to a real life romance novel. Not that she had a few (half dozen) back home on the shelves of her library.

* * *

"Here, and if you so much as think 'I told you so' you'll feel the rough end of my staff." Beryl groused as she tossed a small coin bag in Fili's lap. He was still ensconced in bed amidst a veritable cloud of pillows, leg propped so the wound would drain properly.

"I almost wished you still had your broom with you." The sheer glee apparent in his dancing eyes and winking dimples should be outlawed, along with that blasted cheeky grin.

"And why is that?" Beryl narrowed suspicious eyes at the blond scamp.

"It hurt less."

"That's only because I wasn't trying, much." Blast his infectious good humor, she could hardly suppress her own laughter.

"Hmm" Whaddaya know, the scamp could be taught. She patted his head as she left to find Balin, and discuss a contract for a second healer.

* * *

Finding Balin wasn't hard at all, in fact, he nearly pulled her arm off hauling her into a room at the inn. This was hardly Balinlike behavior. Beryl was intrigued.

"Balin! What was that all about?"

"Have you perhaps noticed Thorin's behavior since his injury? I've never seen him like that." Balin was agitated.

"Yes, I noticed. I think I know what's causing it." Beryl felt this was as good an opening as any to discuss what she wanted. "And I think I know how to kill two birds with one stone, that is, if you have another contract with you?"

"Another contract? Lassie, why do we need another contract?" Never let it be said Balin was not a quick study.

"We got bloody lucky last fight. What if Oin were the one injured? What if we get that badly beaten on the road, and there is no Bree within easy distance? Then what? I'm surprised one as young as Fili saw the need before you experienced sorts did."

"Aye, I can see that, but how is that killing two birds with one stone?"

"Well, the healer I have in mind is the one who has Thorin so over the moon." Balin laughed, long and low at Beryl's impish grin.

"Lassie, you're a dangerous one." Balin sobered. "Now, have you procured the agreement of this young healer?"

"Not yet, but I will." The answer was so sure, so light hearted, Balin had no doubts the healer in question would have no clue what hit her. Watching the fallout as she realized, though, could be all sorts of entertaining.

The next two days passed quickly. Thorin and Wren learned much about each other and themselves over numerous games of chess. Wren surprised Thorin by winning half the time. "The boys," as Beryl lumped them, did their best to drink through the entirety of one Barliman Butterbur's stores. Beryl checked in often on the ponies. She didn't want them forgetting the tricks she'd been teaching them. They were integral to her plans in getting Thorin's agreement to bring Wren along. All that was left was getting Wren's agreement.


	9. Half of a half of a half

**A/N: I honestly never thought this story would get this far along. Wren's drunken conversation courtesy of the Lovely kkolmakov**

* * *

Beryl found just what she was looking for when she walked into the Prancing Pony the night before their departure. A morose Wren was nursing a halfling sized mug in a far corner, all but crying in her cup. Beryl grabbed herself a mug and joined the wilted healer.

"Hey there, Wren. What're you up to?"

"I am sad." Upon closer inspection, Beryl saw she was already pretty far gone. Her eyes had even crossed a bit. "My friend gave me half a half a half... hic!... Just a weeeeeeeeeee bit." She held up an unsteady hand, the finger and thumb barely not touching. "It was supposed to cheer me up… hic… but I think I cannot have even that much... Who knew? Hic!" When the usually calm and collected healer sniffled piteously, Beryl was torn between silly giggles and sympathy. Her situation was not funny, not at all, but her drunken antics? This was the sort of thing friends held over each other's heads for lifetimes!

"Mercy, Wren, what has you in such a state? Besides the ale, that is?" Beryl thought Fate may have dropped the most perfect Golden Opportunity right in her lap, and she meant to take every advantage of it. She slid into the chair next to the morose healer, patting her hand sympathetically.

"And the worst thing," She continued her conversation with her mug for a while, "he won't even remember me!" Her thin shoulders shook with her hiccups, and she sadly poked the foam in her cup with an unsteady finger.

"I can't believe that, Wren. You're unforgettable. Who won't remember you?" Wren finally looked up from her tiny mug, attempting to focus her eyes on Beryl.

"Oh, when did you come here?" Another hiccup bounced her curls and head. Beryl found she had to lean into her to keep her in her chair.

"Just a moment ago. You looked like you could use some company. I'm going to miss you when we hit the road." Beryl watched the biggest tears form and roll down Wren's face, as her bottom lip wobbled. Her head suddenly lolled forward and thumped the table, loudly.

"And I will miss you-u-u-u… It is so odd! I don't miss people… Dwarves… Hobbits…" Her word were lost in a fit of hiccups. Beryl patted her back in sympathy. Never in a thousand years would she have thought to see Wren of Enadwaith like this.

"Well, you coming would take a load off my mind. I was just discussing with Balin we needed another healer on this trip. Then we wouldn't have to miss each other." Beryl winced as Wren wailed as if her heart were breaking.

"Another healer will be bandaging him?! Waaaahhhh..." She threw her head back against her chair, thumping the wall behind her. Then she lolled forward, but stopped just short of hitting the table. She seemed lost in her thoughts as she stared into her empty mug. "My half a half a half is gone. Did someone drink it?"

Beryl had to prop her mouth closed, to keep it from hitting the table. She motioned to Butterbur and slid her ale to Wren. "Well, not if you come with us." This really was too easy. If the consequences weren't so serious, Beryl might be inclined to feel guilty. Wren suddenly seemed to remember her backbone, sitting up rigid in her chair, and took a haughty swig of Beryl's ale.

"I can go with you, I am a free woman. No one can tell me what to do." Beryl wondered how Wren could even see at all, her eyes were now so crossed. Wren scrunched her nose, as she was wont to do when thinking. "But I won't! He doesn't want me there, why would I?"

A suddenly panicky Wren had Beryl by her waistcoat and was shaking her so hard Beryl's teeth rattled. Honestly, Beryl was doing good to hear Wren over her own teeth clacking. "By 'him' I do not mean Thorin! I do not under any circumstances mean Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror" What was meant to be a reassuring assessment ended in a pitiful, reedy sounding whine.

Beryl really felt like a heel, but reminded herself it was for Wren's, and Thorin's, own good. If they ever forgave her, they might get around to thanking her, eventually. "Pity, I have a contract here, all ready to go. We need another healer, and I'd hoped you'd want to come. You don't put up with their nonsense. We desperately need you on this trip." Beryl prayed to any and all deities she could name to help her convince Wren to come along.

Wren stared at the contract before her, tracing Thorin's signature. "I really like his curves! Look at the curves… So nice..." Wren's voice took on that dreamy edge only the truly sloshed ever managed. "But no, I can't! What am I going to so?! Ogle him? I mean them… Um... Ponies… I mean ponies… And Bofur!" Wren's voice wandered off into an incoherent mumble, her face now a shade of red to make Beryl's best tomatoes back home in her garden jealous.

"Or, more like, you'd save his life…" Beryl added in a soft voice. Wren gave her a soulful, hopeful look. She'd tucked in her chin, and her bangs half covered her eyes, making her look incredibly young and vulnerable. Beryl patted Wren's back in a comforting manner, taking her weight when she leaned precariously. Thank all creation Wren was tiny for a daughter of Men.

"Ohhh, is he in danger?" Her eyes were huge with sudden panic, and the question was all but gasped out.

"It's a long trip to where we're going. There'll be worse than bandits on the roads. We need you. He needs you." Beryl had to bite her tongue not to add 'in more ways than one.'

"Oh, Maiar help me, I will regret this!" Her nose was twitching like a rabbit scenting cabbage, and crying so hard it astounded Beryl she could see straight enough to grab the quill she proffered and sign legibly on the appropriate line. "And now we need to drink to commemorate my dimwitted idea to follow a Dwarf who doesn't even know I exist!" Before she could even lift her tankard, Wren fell across the table, head thumping loudly, completely out cold. Apparently, Wren had found her absolute limit.

Beryl was incredibly grateful Butterbur had a bed into which they could poor Wren, and he had a tavern girl that could help Beryl get Wren into a nightshift. She also took the time to pack necessities for Wren, and talked one of the healers still awake into checking that Wren had full supplies in her healer's kit. It was a lot to do, and it was late, but it would be worth it on the morrow. Beryl tucked the contract away for safe keeping. Tomorrow was going to be all sorts of fun.


	10. Mutiny on HMS Thorin

**A/N: So um, silly me forgot Sunday was Mother's Day. I had a great time, and so did my kids. However, it made this a wee bit late. My apologies. Thank you for the kind reviews! They keep me motivated and writing, or at least, Beryl appeased enough she keeps talking.**

* * *

Beryl was not a morning person, especially considering how late a night she had. However, with cock crow nervous energy had her bounding out of bed before even the Dwarves had stirred. She still had to face down Thorin. She figured her plan had a better chance of working the closer to leaving time she left it. So here she found herself leaping out of bed when she'd rather still be tucked up for an hour of two, to have the ponies ready, Wren safely astride, and Thorin left with little to do but accept the hijacking. Which meant she needed to wake her co-conspirators. She didn't worry about waking Balin...Dwalin however…

Beryl found herself bounding down the stairs at high speeds to raid the kitchen. Coffee! Even the worst sort of morning grump behaved for coffee's sake. Beryl sped into the kitchens. Luckily, the Cook was already there, and begging two steaming mugs off her was child's play. Armed with an appropriate bribe, Beryl made her way carefully back to Balin and Dwalin's room.

Carefully cradling the coffee mugs in one arm, she slid the door open with the other. "Balin! Dwalin! I've coffee for you." As her soft voice and the scent of coffee wafted into the room, the two lumps buried under the blankets began to stir.

"Mahal's beard! The sun's not even cracked her eye yet. What has you awake so early." Dwalin, looking ferocious even when first wakened, cracked his jaw as he yawned, and shook himself awake like some great shaggy bear.

"Nefarious shenanigans, I'm afraid. We need another healer, Balin already knows, and you're gonna help me get her aponyback." Beryl handed a mug to Balin, who thanked her softly. His face was the epitome of bliss as he inhaled the warm aroma.

"We're kidnapping that lassie?" Dwalin's bushy eyebrow rose, silently chiding Beryl. She flushed, nearly sloshing him with hot coffee as she thrust the mug in his waiting hands.

"No! She signed a contract same as I did. We're not kidnapping her. She just overindulged last night." Beryl's arms crossed in pique as she regarded the huge dwarven warrior, still rubbing his bald pate as he sipped his coffee.

"I think I'm going to like the lass."

"Yes, well, if we don't get a move on, you'll be liking her from afar. I'm going to need all the advantage I can get to convince Thorin this is a Good Idea."

"Are you sure you can manage that, lass?"

"Positive enough I'd wager on it." The impish grin was enough to convince the battle hardened Dwarf, who smiled widely as he handed her back the mug.

"Then i'm in!"

Beryl repeated her coffee trick with the other Dwarves she trusted in on the hijinks: Fili and by extension Kili, who nearly gave them away with his barely smothered laughter. Bifur, Bombur, and Bofur rounded up ponies and got them laden with help from Dori, Nori, and Ori. With both Nori and Ori all set to help, Dori came round, though he wanted his objection lodged for future reference.

Beryl wasn't sure about asking Oin and Gloin. Being a healer, Oin ought to understand why it was important she come, but he was also a Dwarven Elder. Beryl was never really sure where she stood with Gloin, though. No one ever explained what it was he said when he stalked out of her den. Their rooms were also closest to Thorin's, so that was a very good reason in her books to leave them out of the shenanigans.

Ponies and packs were ready, it was finally time to collect their newest member of The Company. She quietly entered Wren's room. She was still out cold. Beryl managed to get her dressed without waking her. It was now time to call in the big guns. Dwalin had no troubles picking Wren up and toting her downstairs. Balin and Beryl carried her traveling case and medicine bag.

Dwalin mounted his pony, and let Dori hand her up to him. "Alright, we're set."

"What is all this?" That voice was low, cold, and oh so full of fury. Beryl had to grab her courage with both hands before it scampered off for the hills.

"This would be me stacking the deck before approaching you with something you desperately need to say yes to, but will most likely veto before you hear it all." Well, she was in for it now.

Thorin stalked towards the little Hobbit. He could all but smell her fear. She stood there, face set, but her hands were so twisted up in her shirt, he could barely see them. She'd probably stretched the tunic, too. Not so easy a thing, considering the sturdy material.

"We need a second healer." At her words, his head whipped around to regard the young woman still sleeping in Dwalin's arms. His eyes widened upon recognition, and Beryl pushed on. "What if something happens to Oin? Heck, we were just a short ways from Bree, and we STILL nearly lost you."

"No, it's too dangerous. She hasn't even what training you have. I wouldn't be able to keep her safe in a fight. What good is a another healer if we lose her when we need her most?"

"Are you kidding me? She's tiny for a human. You can play toss and Dwarven shield wall with her as easily as you did me." Beryl still hadn't completely forgiven Balin for lobbing her like a ball to Dwalin during that fight with the bandits. Hobbits were not meant to go airborne.

"More easily, she might have the sense to stay put!" Honest to goodness, she swore Oin had the most selective deafness she'd ever heard tell or seen.

"Not helping, Oin!" She bellowed over her shoulder. She had not taken her eyes off Thorin the entire time. It was almost funny watching him trying to stay calm and collected, the mighty leader of the company, when she knew quite well the fact it was Wren there on the pony with Dwalin was making him twitch in his own skin. "Simple fact remains, Thorin. We need her. No amount of ballyhooing or bellowing or excuses change anything. We need her."

"Am I not the leader of this Company? I forbid it." Thorin's voice was firm and commanding, his hand slashing the air in a universally understood negative. It made Beryl see red.

"You stubborn goat! We need her! I won't come if she doesn't." Beryl knew she'd lost the moment she let the impetuous words fly free. She stomped her foot as his gleeful smirk settled in place.

"Fine, don't come. I release you from your contract." He nodded regally, and mounted his pony, wheeling it around to take in the Company, confident they'd follow sans the troublesome women.

Thorin sneered at Beryl, who steamed, fumed, and prayed she'd taught the ponies well. The other dwarves gave her questioning looks as they passed by. Beryl stayed by Dwalin's pony, Wren still in his arms. "Wait for it, Dwalin."

"Lass, what are you playing at?" He watched her take a sack full of apples off the back of her pony, his pony whickering softly as soon as he saw it.

"You're about to find out." Dwalin shuddered at the sheer mischief contained in those few words. Beryl waited for Thorin to get down the road a ways, cocky and sure he'd outsmarted a little Hobbit of the Shire. Then Beryl took in a deep breath.

"Heeeeeyoooooooooowhup!" The call was loud, bone jarring, and all the ponies squealed and whinnied, turning, some on their hind legs, and galloped back to Beryl. Thorin's face was an incredulous thundercloud when his pony jogged happily to the little Hobbit handing apples out to her obedient charges.

"She's coming, and so am I, or nobody is, and that's final." Beryl grinned as she fed Thorin's pony an apple and rubbed her nose, cooing what a good pony she was.


	11. The Sleeper Awakens

**A/N: Wren's dialog provided by the incomparable kkolmakov. Thank you for the help, 'cause this chapter just wouldn't gel without you. If you need more ThoWren goodness, you should really check out her page.**

* * *

The money pouches being flung up and down the caravan line were no surprise to Beryl. What did surprise her was Gloin moving his pony up next to her.

"That was a clever bit with the ponies." Gloin didn't actually look at her, but seemed to be studying the road ahead.

"Thank you." Beryl waited, she really had no idea what to say.

"It was a hard thing, losing an entire branch of the family. Even these days, it worried some of us like a sore tooth. To have a bit of it come back, and as a Hobbit no less, takes a bit of getting used to." Beryl wondered if ever there would come a time the Dwarves wouldn't be able to floor her. It was a good thing she was riding, else he'd noticed her frozen in place. She could tell it cost him to admit that much, and it explained his strange aloofness. She could understand, even respect it. She still didn't have a clue as to what to say to it.

She was saved by the shriek of a woman waking to find herself Not Where She Belonged. Beryl turned her attention to the flailing figure in a laughing Dwalin's arms. Her eyes begged Gloin's forgiveness as she turned her pony to attend this latest kerfuffle.

"Dwalin, what did you do?" Beryl sidled her horse next to his, hoping to keep the whirlwind that used to be a sensible healer from breaking her neck in a fall off the pony.

"Nothing! She asked if breakfast were ready, an' I told her she slept through it. She didn't care for that." To say Dwalin had his hands full would have been a gross understatement. That he managed to keep his voice even was a testament to the Dwarf's temperament, stamina, and strength.

"Why am I on a pony?!" Finally! Intelligible words Beryl could answer.

"You agreed last night to provide your services for this venture, since one healer didn't seem enough. Do you remember any of last night?" Beryl kept her voice conversational, hoping to help calm Wren's nerves. Fat lot of good it did her. She could already see Thorin guiding his pony back to them, but apparently, the rest of the Company was told to keep moving. That was promising.

"Beryl Baggins, under no circumstances I could have even considered going on a quest!" The red haired healer was industriously wiggling in the arms of the tattooed warrior, who was holding her firmly while pretending to look elsewhere.

"Shall I show you your signature on the contract?" Beryl pulled the contract out of her breast pocket, and shook it at her playfully.

"What is going on here?" And there's the long nosed twit now. Beryl closed her eyes and prayed for wits enough to get through this in one piece with all players in place. Beryl eyed Wren's sudden lack of motion with some amusement. She currently resembled an exhausted landed fish, down to the silent and gaping mouth. Come to think of it, she'd lost all color, too. Well well.

"Our darling healer awoke without remembering she agreed to come along, and has had a sudden fit of homesickness." Beryl kept her pony between Wren and Thorin. She wasn't sure why it seemed important, but she wasn't going to start second guessing her gut. It'd gotten her this far in one piece.

"Because that is where she belongs," The Dwarf pointed at Wren with his hand still holding a reign. Wren's turn up nose twitched and she sat up straighter.

"She can decide for herself!" The healer apparently had found her voice. And her backbone.

The Grump finally turned and looked at her. Well, apparently, one good insult from the twit and she found her courage. Glassy eyes were now narrowed and spitting fire, the chin in the air daring him to say something else stupid. Beryl sat back, trying desperately to hide her glee. If she were lucky, Thorin's antagonism could very well do her job for her.

"And she wants to go home, since she is clearly unwelcome!" With a twist and a slide to make the best escape artists jealous, Wren freed herself of Dwalin's hold and promptly landed in a mud puddle seat first.

Or maybe not, thought a despairing Beryl. "Wren, it's too far to walk."

"I am not a child and not sickly! I will manage," the healer threw over her shoulder and kept on walking. Beryl nudged her pony after her. She noticed Thorin also followed, apparently mesmerized by Wren's mud coated posterior.

"Yes, and the goblin infested bandits will be entirely too happy you're not a child or helpless, I'm sure." mocked Beryl dryly. "Or do you forget how we met in the first place? The reason you agreed to come last night?"

"I agreed on nothing!" Wren's voice was heard much less now, she was apparently a quick walker. "I was drunk for the first time in my life! And if I do get gutted by goblins, you can blame yourself, Beryl Baggins!"

"And much more honest with yourself while you were. I suppose you don't remember admiring Thorin's curves when you signed, either." Beryl hissed in a private voice. She trotted her pony alongside the miffed healer. Showing her the signatures together on the contract.

Wren dug her heels into the mud of the road.

"I would never admire any man's… curves!" the healer's voice was squeaky. "I do not admire.. men in general! What are you?.. What?.." Wren sputtered like a teakettle losing steam. Beryl waited until she quieted like a ship becalmed, and then laid in with the heavy broadsides.

"Firstly, you did sign, because you know those fools can't stay out of trouble without appropriate supervision. Namely supervision provided by you and me. I had hoped another person with sense would help.

"Secondly, as torn up over the shape Thorin came in, I thought you might understand why having another healer was vital. Apparently, you fooled us both last night.

"So, go ahead, walk all the way back to Bree by yourself. You'll get yourself killed, be an oathbreaker, and leave these twits to the tender mercies of the road, which you had promised last night you would help see them through!" Beryl sat on her pony, chest heaving and eyes stinging. Until she had said all that, she hadn't realized just how important it all was to her. It was rather eye opening.

The healer stood still, her back to Beryl and her shoulders tense. She then slowly turned around, and to her shock Beryl saw a small smile on the healer's face.

"And have you packed my healer's sack, Beryl Baggins?" If she thought to catch Beryl out so easy, she was in for disappointment.

"I had another healer check your sack to make sure it was complete, and I packed your travel bags myself. They're waiting on your pony. So yes, your duties in Bree are covered, since they knew you were going." The healer cocked her head and gave Beryl a measuring look.

"You do think yourself very smart, don't you?"

"I don't know about smart, but prepared? Managing a village of Hobbits will teach you preparedness." Wren laughed softly and shook her head.

"Something tells me, managing thirteen Dwarves might be a more laborious task..." She sighed and looked down the road behind Beryl. Thorin sat in the distance, studying the surroundings carefully, studiously not watching the women in the road.

"I don't doubt it." Beryl's eyes narrowed on the Dwarven headache most definitely Not Watching them. "I'll need all the help I can get."

"Very well, I will go with you," Wren stubbornly jerked her chin up, "But only because I do not break my promises even if they were made in a completely muddled state. And no mentioning of any curves!" She pointed her small finger at Beryl's nose. It was all Beryl could do not to dance in glee.

"I give you my solemn oath. No mention of curves shall pass my lips." Stopping the small grin twitching at the corners of her mouth was well beyond Beryl's capabilities at the moment.

Mumbling something about "no more ale ever again" and "curse my promises" Wren marched back towards the company. On the way she passed the Grump who was busy fixing his pony's nosepiece as if it were the most important thing in the world. She walked by, head held high, and her back straight.

"Thorin," she spoke in a strained, pointedly cold voice.

"Honorable healer," he returned the line in the same tone, with a small nod, and she reached her pony and climbed on it.

Beryl was ready to soak both their heads.


	12. Trolls are Shoddy Hosts part 1

**A/N: So, Life being what Life is, I think I'm going to try to keep a more regular schedule with this story, shooting for Monday and Thursday updates. How does that sound? I'm getting into hairier territory, and I don't want the story to suffer. Thoughts? comments? Snide Remarks?**

* * *

A week on the road, and Beryl was ready to chew horseshoes into rooftacks. Thorin was surly and more brusque than usual. Wren would only talk if spoken to, and then only in short terse sentences. Neither would hardly look at the other, except if one were absorbed in some task, then the one looking would stare to either his or her heart's content. Bofur had a betting pool on which of them would break first and snog the sense out of the other one. Nori had gleefully told Beryl there was a separate pool on whether or not she'd lose her patience with them first. Beryl thought the only reason he was brave enough to mention this at all was because her sapling staff was out of reach, and she never did find her broom.

It was looking like Beryl might just make one Dwarf or another very rich at any moment. The rain was coming down in buckets, and the closest thing to shelter they'd found was a rundown, rickety farmhouse with the roof gone. Everything was so wet, even Oin and Gloin couldn't get a fire going reliably. It was the perfect situation to fray tempers already stretched thin to breaking. Beryl stomped off into the brush to gain a few moments of relief.

It took her a while to realize that wasn't the red haze of her anger she was seeing, but a fire in the distance. "Oh well done lass! Looks like you found us a bit of fire!" Beryl jumped. She had been so absorbed, she never heard the blond scamp coming up behind her.

"Fili, we've no idea if that fire belongs to friend or foe, and I for one, am not about to go over there to find out." It was very hard to look intimidating with rain running in rivers off her nose, but Beryl gave it her best shot. Blondie didn't even notice.

"Oh, Brilliant! She's found us a fire already going? Gandalf was right, bringing you did improve our luck!" Kili picked her up and twirled her around, laughing as she bludgeoned his shoulders with her tiny fists.

"Put me down!" Once returned to earth, Beryl had to steady herself with a hand against Fili's sturdy shoulder. Once she regained her breath, she shook a finger at the Brown Scamp. "Kili, for all I know, that fire belongs to orcs or worse! I'm not going out there."

"Who said go out there? Just sneak up close enough to see if they're friendly, and come right back. See? No danger, and we'll be right behind you. Just hoot like twice a barn owl and once like a brown owl, we'll be right there."

"I'm not hooting like any bloody owl!" Beryl hissed.

"Then just whistle." That was Fili. Apparently, raising the Hobbit's blood pressure was a new pasttime the Scamps were enjoying immensely.

"It's raining buckets!" She hollered at their retreating backs. It did no good, both of them were off and running, full tilt back to their soggy camp, and Beryl was left staring at an inviting fire off in the trees. Curse her curiosity.

Beryl was frozen solid right where she was. Trolls. It was a Troll campfire. A campfire with Trolls sitting about it. Thankfully, whatever they were roasting this night had four feet instead of two. Beryl wasn't sure she'd be able to keep her stomach contents if it weren't. She wanted to go back to camp, she really did, except she was frozen in place. Trolls. Nothing should be allowed to be that big, that ugly, or that noxious. Beryl was afraid her nausea would spill despite her best efforts when the Troll in front of her bent over and his body odor made it to her despite the heavy rain still falling.

And then disaster struck.

"ACHOO!" Beryl had caught the sniffles from the rain, at the worst sort of time. Before she could disappear back into the brush, one of the Trolls had grabbed her up, squeezing her about the middle.

"Unhand me right now you brute!" She bellowed at them. She wiggled and kicked like a mad thing in his clutches. While her loud voice and wild flailings made the one holding her flinch, he didn't drop her. This might have been a good thing, since they were using the campfire to get a good look at her.

"What is it Bert?"

"Dunno, Tom. You ever seen anything like it?"

"Bugger me. Not nuthin' like. You Will?' At this the biggest of the lot came up and poked an ungentle finger in her middle.

"Well, morsel, what are ye then?" Will's ungodly breath rolled over her like death's own miasma.

That was her limit, she lost her fight with her digestive system all over the Troll's hand, and he dropped her. She barely missed the spit and fire.

"I'm fed up with the lot of this, that's what I am! You and your squishy hands and you with your pokey fingers. I'm fed up with this rain, low rations, a sore bum, and pushy Dwarves!" Who knew Hobbits could roar? The three Trolls stumbled back, not sure what to do with the angry little thing in front of them. They regarded her much the way they would a maddened badger, right up until the word 'Dwarves' left her mouth. Then their demeanor changed completely.

"Dwarves?" Said one, and it wiped dripping drool all over its forearm.

"There's Dwarves here, then?" She did not care for the evil light in the Trolls' eyes. Beryl thought as fast as she could.

'Were, they done a runner while I had to use the bushes. They don't like my mouth any more than you do."

"Aww, could have used a good bit of roast Dwarf. Now we're stuck with the mutton!"

"Don't start that again! Besides, what makes you think she'd tell us the truth any road?" Beryl had been sliding her way unobtrusively towards the safety of the woods when a great tree trunk of a leg came down in front of her.

"And just where do you think you're going, little mouthy thing?" Oh the foul stench that rolled over her from that cavernous mouth. If she lived to escape this, she'd happily go back to minding the shire, and hang Dwarves, Trolls, mountains and dragons all.

Beryl still fired up and angry, swatted the bent over Troll's nose in front of her as hard as she could. Apparently, the Troll hadn't expected that move, and fell over. Unfortunately, this caught the bickering Trolls attention, and Beryl found herself surrounded again. She just prayed the Dwarves had enough sense not to come barreling into the fray.

What was she thinking? Of course they'd come barreling into the fray. She was their 'lost princess'. Now that Gloin had accepted her as family, nothing in this world would stop him from getting her back, and both Dwalin and Balin'd be right there with him. Dwalin'd probably thank her for the lovely brawl. Beryl's mind kicked into high gear, but no idea was forthcoming.

She was surrounded, and the Dwarves were coming with no way for her to warn them what was here. The Trolls would probably hear them from miles away, given all the racket they made. Only Nori seemed to understand the beauty of moving quietly, and even he made more noise than she found acceptable.

So, the only chance her boys had were if she kept the three distracted. Okay. Distract them. How? "So, ye have me. Now, what're you three gonna do with me?"


	13. To Serve Dwarf, Shoddy Hosts part 2

**A/N: So, of course the first time I set myself a deadline I miss it. I am so sorry my readers. However, migraines are not to be argued with, especially when they team up with sinus pressure. Weather has been brutal the past three days. Here it is, though it be short and sweet. I'm already pounding out the next chapter, so perhaps Monday will be right on time.**

* * *

"Wot? We're goin' ter eat cher is wot!" Beryl decided today was another for her calendar. A Troll was studying her like she was daft.

"Oh, well, that's fine and dandy, but have you really seen me? Hardly a mouthful, am I? So, I guess the question is, which one of you is going to eat me?" Beryl gestured to her tiny, rain soaked and mud spattered body, letting it make her case for her.

"Huh?" Was this concept really beyond them? Two of the Trolls seemed to be attempting to puzzle out what she said, while the third wasn't bothered a bit.

"Well, I don't mind a little morsel before the mutton's done." Just as a massive Troll paw reached for her, another swatted it away. Beryl let her breath out in a long relieved sigh.

"Hold on there, who said you could eat it?" Now two Trolls were nose to nose, and Beryl didn't think it was to dance.

"But I'm hungry now!" The one Troll whined as if he would starve on the spot if denied.

"So?" To say the second Troll was unimpressed was an understatement as gross as he was.

"I'm hungriest, so I gets it!" The whiney Troll shoved the second Troll in the chest.

"You'll get it alright!" And there was the windup.

The third Troll, who'd stayed out of the argument made a grab for Beryl. "Hey now! You think you get to eat me behind the others' backs?" Beryl hollered, almost giddy when the other two turned on the third Troll. That was all it took, a three way brawl broke out. Beryl again made for the brush.

"Look there you lackwits! She's getting away again!" Some days, there was just no winning.

Before the first Troll could lay a hand on her a wild warcry from thirteen throats filled the clearing and a Dwarf swinging two axes cut deeply into the offending Troll arm. "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!" Beryl was never so happy to see her berserker uncle in her life.

"Hey Beryl, Grab that end and tie it off, won't you?" and there's sneaky Nori, up to hijinks. Beryl quickly found a stump to wind the thick rope around and tied it off tightly. The stump or rope length might give up the ghost, but her knot wouldn't. It was only one of many tricks she'd learned managing her Took and Brandybuck cousins. Nori ducked and weaved amongst one of the Troll's feet, leading him a merry chase. Finally satisfied, Nori stepped back and whistled to Ori. Ori drew back his slingshot, and hit the Troll right between his eyes. The Troll lumbered a step towards Ori before falling like a tree to a lumberjack's axe.

The others had not been idle. Beryl watched Dwalin launch Fili in the air so he could strike a Troll that dared grab at Dori. Balin danced around, swatting the Troll's hands with his mace. Beryl still said it looked more like a sword than a proper mace, and didn't the boys laugh at her for that one? Gloin and Thorin were bating the last Troll, slashing him deftly every time his attention turned from one to the other. They pretty well kept him tied up between them.

Beryl just wished someone'd kept an eye on the lumberjacked Troll. "Drop 'em or the morsel gets ripped in two! Now!" Beryl felt tears start in her eyes, as the Troll stretched her far enough she felt sure something dislocated, and all her vertebrae popped.

She felt humiliated. She should have known to keep an eye on him, and now he'd used her to catch the Dwarves, too. Whether they really did or not, she still felt her cheeks burn in shame from accusing glares. She never gathered enough courage to actually look at any of them as they were stuffed into burlap sacks.

"Now, how's that for you a proper meal, eh Bert?" Sadly, the sacking of Dwarves had given Beryl plenty of time to start telling Trolls apart. Will was now poking and prodding them, deciding how best to serve them up.

"Oh, that's fine! That's fine! Been awhile since we had a proper Dwarf roast." Bert was rubbing his hands and dancing from foot to foot. Beryl had seen wee fauntlings at their first feast less excited. The incongruity of it all made her eyes slightly cross.

"Roast 'em? There's not enough dark left for a roast. I says we skins 'em and eats em raw right now!" Tom the surly one was sharpening his knife, and wasn't that a horror to behold. The thing looked almost as thick as a Dwarf, and twice as long.

"But their skins get so crunchy when they're roasted!" Bert whined. Beryl couldn't believe her ears. They were going to argue away the rest of the night! They'd wind up stone cold statues at this rate, especially with a little Hobbity help.

"Oh aye, ye might not even want to wait to skin 'em, if that's alright." Even the healer glared at her. She made a face back at her. Surely she knew better than that! Why would she have fought and schemed to bring a second healer along, just to help Trolls eat them all. Really!

"Now why would you want ter help us?" Will leaned into her face, giving her a marvelous dose of his halitosis. Beryl was glad she had nothing left to heave, mostly.

"Oh, it's not you I'm wanting to help." Beryl barely kept her eyes from rolling at that one. "'I just don't want the florgleworms loose."

"Florgleworms! No! Don't let the florgleworms out!" Really? Bert the Whiny Troll was too easy. That's why she kept her eyes on Will the Wiley Troll.

"I ain't never heard of no florgleworm before." He peered at her suspiciously, and prodded her sack with his finger. What was with him and poking her? .

"I don't imagine you have. Very nasty business. Works very fast. I'm sure no Troll that ate a Dwarf full of florgleworms ever made it back to tell what happens."

"She could be lying." Thank you for your input, Tom the Surly. Beryl had to think faster.

"Think on it! Why else would a bunch of strapping Dwarves like these be traveling with two healers?" Beryl nodded over towards Wren in her sack, and received a furious glare in return. Honestly, Beryl was just as glad looks couldn't really kill. She'd be dead thrice over at this rate.

" 'Struth? Yer one a' their healers?" Will gestured to the lump of Dwarves.

"I was hired to tend their ills, yes." Even stuffed in a sack, soaking wet, Wren sounded as cool and calm as a cucumber. Beryl wondered if the woman took something to manage that.

"Are they sick with florgleworms, then?" Leave it to Will to ask her a direct question. Beryl wished she knew if Wren could bring herself to lie for their sakes. Beryl shut her eyes and prayed.

"Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!" And with Gandalf's lovely first words since he went off on his own in Bree, a cock crowed, daylight flowed, and three Trolls became little more than statuary. Beryl thanked her stars, the creators, and anything else that came to mind as the Wizard went about letting them out of the sacks.


	14. Comeuppance Cometh

**A/N: Ha HA! Take that, migraine! Chapter up on time. Whaddaya think? Wren used with kkolmakov's ****permissions. Seriously, if you haven't checked her page yet, you're missing out.**

* * *

Beryl waited patiently, occasionally sneezing, as Wren and Oin tended the Dwarves first, leaving her last. She couldn't really blame her. First thing Beryl did after pulling her into this mess was to nearly get everyone eaten by Trolls. Maybe checking them over first let her temper cool enough to see to Beryl professionally, instead of vindictively.

She took her own internal inventory while she waited. Her left arm didn't feel quite right. It wasn't out of socket, thankfully, that would have been easy for even her to tell, but the muscles in her arm did not quite want to cooperate. She couldn't even pull grass up with the fingers of her left hand. So, along with a growing cold, something was up with her fingers, and her back was more than a little sore from that bloody Troll stretching her so.

"Well, Mistress Baggins, our Company seems little the worse for wear from this adventure you found for us. Let us see how you fared." Wren's voice was light, almost teasing, which surprised Beryl. Wren even hummed as she checked her over. Beryl tried to stifle her sneezes, but one got past her after all. Wren immediately tutted, then checked her throat, tongue, and felt behind her ears.

"So far, my fine Hobbit, you have managed to wrench your left arm, it will need a sling for a few days, pulled muscles in your back, and managed to catch a nasty cold." Wren narrowed her eyes at her. "You will not be fit to manage a pony by yourself, not in this state."

Beryl's eyes widened in horror. "You don't mean to tell Thorin that! He'll try to leave me behind, again!"

"After you pulled me into this mess, do you think I will let you out of it that easily? Oh no, I have something much better in mind." Whatever she had in mind, it must have been a doozy for her to relent so. "Besides, while you might have gotten us into this mess, you also got us out. I think that fairly settles any score. Gandalf even said as much to Thorin."

"He what?" Color Beryl dumbfounded.

"I believe his exact words were: My dear Thorin, she had the sense to play for time, which none of you thought to do." Wren turned in time to see Gandalf leading the Dwarves down a dark cave back behind some thick juniper trees. Beryl's curiosity got the better of her, and she made to follow.

"And what do you think you are doing?" The sight of a narrow gazed, toe tapping, hands-on-hips healer was enough to quail even Beryl's spirit, but not quite enough to stop her curiosity.

"Following them, of course." Wren huffed, and then wrapped an arm around and under Beryl's good side.

"What?" Beryl watched Wren with a wary gaze. The supporting arm around her aching back was surprisingly gentle.

"Clearly, you mean to go, but if I let you go alone, you will only injure yourself further. This way, I can minimize the damage you are sure to incur." Wren's voice made it clear she'd brook no argument. Her mind firmly made up. Beryl acquiesced. After all, she was getting to go down the Troll hole.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"My pleasure." Beryl and Wren made their careful way passed the thick and dripping juniper, and quickly regretted their choice to follow.

"Oh my gracious." Beryl's bare feet kicked something noisome to the side. "The stench."

"Yes, my fair Baggins. Trolls are not known for their housekeeping skills, rather for their lack of them." Gandalf looked around himself. The place was littered with both dismembered dead things, junk, and rare treasures. Gloin was leading a few dwarves in gathering coins and gems into a chest he'd found, burying them in the soft dirt.

He looked up at Wren and Beryl studying him. He gave them a wink and a half smirk as he said, 'We're making a long term deposit."

"Gandalf, look here." Thorin was over by a barrel full of rusty and cobwebbed weapons. He pulled two web coated scabbards out. The hilts strangely clean under the layer of web. "These do not look like any troll make."

"Nor were they made by any smith among men." Gandalf studied the blade Thorin gave him, seemingly lost in memories. "These were forged in Gondolin, by the High Elves, of the First Age." Thorin roughly shoved the blade he had back into its scabbard, moving back towards the barrel. " You could not wish for a finer blade." Thorin thought a moment on Gandalf's warning before shoving the scabbard roughly through his belt.

"Let's leave this foul place. Come!" Beryl wondered how he managed to storm so kingly in such a cramped and foul place, but that's exactly what he did. She stumbled slightly as she turned to follow them.

"Beryl, what?"

"I caught my foot on something." Beryl gingerly felt down amongst the litter of the floor, pulling up a long belt knife, a short sword for her size, or Wren's. "I think I found something for you."

"Beryl, no! What would I do with such a thing?" Wren's voice sounded vaguely pleading.

"I have my staff, I wouldn't know how to use a blade anyways. You know knives, and I'd feel better if you had some means to protect yourself anyways. It looks a mate to the one Thorin carries. If it's good enough for a king, then it should be fine for a queen among healers."

It was difficult, but Beryl managed, barely, to keep her expression neutral as Wren studied her face and words for double meanings. Not even under torture would Beryl admit it, though she was giggling like a mad thing internally at her own wit. Wren's own half smile worried Beryl a bit. She still hadn't told Beryl how she meant to keep her with the party since she wasn't fit to ride by herself.

She found out the next morning. Fili was grinning quite like a warg among sheep, and that set Beryl's alarms to ringing. Wren's satisfied smile did nothing to help. Her fears were confirmed as she salved the worst of Beryl's bruises before putting her arm back in a sling to immobilize it.

"I have arranged for you to ride with Fili." Her voice was as cool and as calm as always, giving nothing away to what she was thinking. What Beryl wouldn't give for a half a half a half now to know what the healer was really thinking. Beryl fought but lost to keep the color out of her own cheeks.

"Particular reason Fili was chosen?" She did not squeak, not at all. She had no reason to squeak.

"Particular reason not to choose Fili? As I understand it, you two get along fairly well. He's strong and agile enough to get you out of the way if a fight starts." Calm cool rational, she still felt as if the healer was mocking her.

"Seemed strange I'd not be riding with my guardians, is all." Beryl tried to sound as level and calm as Wren. Something told her she didn't quite measure up.

"They will be doing precisely that, guarding you. Not so easily done if they are holding you on a horse as well." There was a finality in Wren's words and bearing that no amount of waffling could weasel past, and Beryl had to accept it.

So the Company found itself embarking on the next leg of their journey with Beryl safely ensconced in Fili's arms, her cheeks flaming, and the Blond Scamp grinning ear to ear.


	15. Stone Cold Proposal

**A/N: Wren dialogue provided by kkolmakov. Kitty has mentioned a companion piece to this chapter, so keep your eyes peeled!**

**Here's the deal: I'm waffling on whether to include the orc issue from the movie or not. It's an addition that makes sense, and falls well within the parameters Tolkien proscribed, but it wasn't in the book, either. Truthfully, I can see both versions of this story easily at this point. Hence why I'm asking for reader input. A third option has Bolg leading the pack in revenge for Azog's death in that battle before Moria's gates. What do my lovely readers think?**

* * *

The ride that day was excruciating, but not from physical pain. Her back was such a mess she couldn't hold herself upright, and she found the solid warmth of the dwarf behind her entirely too comfortable. His persistent humming vibrated against her back, keeping the butterflies in her stomach in constant flight. If it weren't for the random wafts of troll stink whenever she moved, she'd have been almost comfortable, and that scared her more than anything else.

Beryl was never so glad in her life to stop for the night, and to find a stream nearby made it all the better. She dug her lump of soap out of her bag one handed and headed for the inviting water.

"Precisely where do you think you are going?" Why had Beryl thought it'd be a good idea to bring Wren along? Now she felt like a fauntling caught sneaking into Farmer Maggot's garden.

"To wash off the last of the troll stink. Want to join me? It's honeysuckle soap." Beryl watched Wren's lips twitch into a half smile as Beryl dangled the soap in invitation.

"If you can promise me to wait a moment, I will join you. I prefer my lilac scented soap." Beryl nodded, and Wren was back quickly with two thick blankets and a change for both of them. Beryl hadn't even thought that far ahead.

They washed together in silence. Wren gently getting all the places Beryl couldn't reach one handed, and Beryl washing Wren's back with her one good hand.

"I'm sorry." The words were out without thought or plan, and completely flummoxed the healer.

"Beryl, what reason do you have for being sorry?" Wren ducked her hair again, as she waited for Beryl to put her thoughts together.

"For dragging you into this, for the troll mess. It's my fault, and I'm sorry." Wren thought if the halfling sunk any lower in the swift current, they'd have to chase her downstream to rescue her. She gently pulled her closer to shore.

"Was it your plan to get caught by the trolls?"

"No! Stupid cold made me sneeze."

"Yes, another good reason not to linger in the water." Once they were comfortably dried and changed, Wren sat with Beryl on the bank, combing and braiding her hair for her.

"I am not mad, Beryl. I have not been mad with you since that first day. I understand why you wanted me on the adventure, and have not harbored cross thoughts towards you since."

"But you looked so mad during the troll fight."

"It was not aimed at you." Beryl let Wren's words sink in for a moment, before asking what really bothered her.

"Okay, so, why Fili?"

"It was not my decision. I told Thorin you could not ride. Fili offered and Thorin agreed. Truly, if it is a difficulty, I can ask Thorin to assign another?"

"I suppose not. Most of the others I'd have probably beat to death by now. It really wasn't to get me back?" She'd already walloped Kili, she could easily see her trying to beat Nori or Bofur for careless words. Poor Ori would be too scared to say anything with her on a pony with him. Bifur she couldn't understand. Riding with him would be alright, but if a fight happened, it'd be pandemonium. In truth, of the bunch, Fili probably was the best choice. Dast it.

"Beryl, I signed the contract and it is my quest as well now. Sober or not it was my decision, and now I will live with it. I am not cross with you, I was cross with myself." And there it was. Beryl needed her good graces, and here she'd thought she'd already mucked it beyond saving. Perhaps Beryl needed to do a little less assuming, and a little more trusting. Wren wasn't some mischievous Took cousin, but a Healer of Men that'd taken an oath to help and not hinder.

Before Beryl could formulate an answer from all her whirling thoughts, there was a scuffling sound from the thick bushes along the top of the creekbank. Beryl quickly picked up a rock from the streambank, and threw it directly at the center of the disturbance. A sharp cry and sudden silence followed. Beryl was already waiting with another rock in hand, daring anything from the brush to head their way. Wren looked at her with admiration.

"Remind me, dear Beryl, never to anger you when there are missiles available." Beryl giggled and hugged Wren one handed. Wren, a little surprised, allowed herself to be hugged.

The walk back to camp was companionable, most of Beryl's misgivings laid to rest. Given a little time, she might even be able to talk to Wren about her own romantic apprehensions. The inveterate matchmaker in her was dying to help Wren sort herself and Thorin out. All those thoughts were quickly forgotten at sight of Thorin Oakenshield, King in Exile, nursing a massive black eye near the fire and Nori looking as if he had taken on all three trolls by himself, sitting as far from Thorin as he could while still being within camp. Wren made straight for Thorin and her medicine bag. Beryl headed straight for the best gossipmonger in camp, namely Bofur.

She found Bofur with her sapling staff, his whittling knife, and two decorative endcaps. She stopped for a moment to consider the sight before her. Why was Bofur fiddling with her staff, and whence did the irrepressible Bofur get the beautiful caps? She shook herself and gathered her thoughts. One mystery at a time, please and thank you.

"So, why's Thorin sporting a black eye, and why's Nori looking like he was drug the last three miles behind a pony with dysentery?" She sat down and watched him work on her staff. He really had quite the clever hands.

"Well, Nori there was caught sneaking off towards the stream where you girls were, and Thorin went after him." Bofur eyed one end of her staff, shaved a sliver off, and then tried the endcap for fit. It was almost ready.

"Nori took a swing at Thorin?" Beryl didn't even try to hide the squeak in her voice.

"Oh no, he'd be in much worse shape if he had. No, Thorin claims a stray rock got him. In fact, probably the only reason Nori's still breathing was he waited out of sight of the stream for you ladies to finish. He apparently had a question he wanted to ask you somewhat private like." Bofur cut his eyes slyly up at her from his work. Too bad the poleaxed expression wasn't from what he thought it was.

"A...stray...rock..." Beryl felt faint. None of the rest of what he said even registered. She'd hit Thorin with her rock. She was doomed. She'd just struck Thorin Oakenshield, King in Exile, Leader of the Company, and she only found out about it now. Beryl collected her thoughts, and watched in appreciation as Bofur continued to work on her staff. One endcap was firmly in place now, and he was steadily carving and shaping the other end for the match.

"Okay, Thorin was struck by a stray rock, and he thumped Nori for following us. What are you doing with my staff, and where did you get those lovely endcaps?"

"Well, I figured if I were holding your staff, you couldn't thump me for askin' if you'd consider my suit. And I figured the best reason I could have for holdin' yer staff would be if I were making it a bit more battleworthy. The endcaps I found in the Troll Hole. They look to be mithril and a bit more besides. There's a matching centergrip there I've already put in place. Once I get these endcaps just so, even a troll will be hard put to break your staff." Bofur tapped the lovely centergrip that had what appeared to be a mix of Dwarven and Elvish runes amidst vines and flowers.

"Bofur...did you just propose to me somewhere in there?" Beryl sat down before she fell down. Today was becoming entirely too much.

"Might have done." Bofur cut a cautious glance at her as he continued to trim the end of her staff.

"Why?" Just when she thought she was done with the marriage proposal nonsense, she's right back in the thick of them. Was every bloody dwarf in the company going to propose? Maybe not Gloin, he'd proudly showed her his wife and son, to 'acquaint her with her newfound family.' She was probably safe there, maybe, unless Dwarves went in for multiple spouses. That was not a helpful thought.

"Why not? Yer a brave, inventive lass, and we'd never bore each other."

"Marriage needs a little more than that to work." Beryl's dry reply fazed Bofur not a whit.

"It's not a bad start for a marriage, either."

"I can't even…" It occurred to Beryl in a moment of morbid humor that Thorin ending her over the rocky insult would also end the proposal aggravation, too.

"Think on it, lass, at least?" Bofur handed her the finished staff, and walked off towards Bombur and the cookpot.

Seriously, what was with all these bloomin' bloody Dwarves?


	16. Eye of the Beholder

**A/N: And kkolmakov delivers in style! Seriously, if you enjoyed this, why HAVEN'T you checked her page yet? **

_**Written by**__** kkolmakov**_

* * *

Wren led Beryl back to the camp, feeling much better than before. Firstly, she utterly enjoyed having washed. The familiar scent of lilacs on her skin and hair added to the comforting feeling. Her nerves had been in horrible frenzy since they left Bree, and only an immense effort prevented her from falling apart. Having something from home made it a bit more tolerable to be on a journey she hadn't chosen to go to, in the company of thirteen men who didn't want her there, and in the excruciating proximity to the man whom she… Oh no, Wren was not going there! These thoughts were to be locked away and buried. Very, very deep. Perhaps when she'd be old and grey she'd be telling her great grandchildren how she was once dim enough to fall head over heels… Wait, was she not intent on absolutely not going there?! Exactly! Wren concentrated on the Hobbit she was supporting, while they slowly walked back to the camp.

The conversation they had had with Beryl was the second reason Wren was now in a much more cheery mood. She had suspected that Beryl had gotten a wrong impression of Wren's opinion of her, and it was nice to clear the air, so to say. Except for that one little thing…

Wren's thoughts were interrupted by the most astonishing view they encountered in the camp. Most Dwarves were sitting in their previous spots, perhaps the only difference from before was the tense and someone forced nonchalance on their faces. That was besides the giant black eye that Wren's main reason for misery sported. And the air around Nori, who looked as if he had been unfortunate enough to face a cattle stampede. His usually strangely solid hairdo was in disarray, the coat was missing several buttons, and altogether he looked rather shaken. Wren quickly evaluated the damage, and decided that the royal peeper was in more danger. It was slowly giving the surrounding half of the haughty, grumpy face a tender purple tinge.

Beryl decisively peeled herself off Wren and headed to Bofur. Wren internally agreed with her. If one wanted to know who, what and how, Bofur was the person to go to.

Wren picked up her healer's sack and marched to the King. It was a proper wonder how he could look grumpy doing virtually anything. Before having the misfortune of encountering him on her life path she hadn't known one could even smoke cantankerously. And would you look at that? Even the rings of smoke he was exhaling looked somewhat peeved.

"I should probably have a look at that..." She stopped in front of him, and he made such a valiant effort to continue his surly smoking that she could bet his teeth were now gritted around the mouthpiece.

"Thank you, honourable healer, it is unnecessary." Wren sighed at his dour tone, picked up the pipe around the shank and pulled it out of his mouth. Not thinking of how his lips were wrapped around it. Of course she wasn't. That would be ridiculous.

The blue eyes flew up at her in astonishment. The temptation to stick her tongue at him was unbearable, but Wren was a well brought up lass. She would do it when he wouldn't be looking. She placed the pipe on the fallen tree he was regally and glumly seated on, and then she leaned in and looked at the wonderful purple blob growing around his right peeper.

"What happened?" She hardly could imagine Nori having dared to do such thing, and also the red haired Dwarf surely would have looked much worse if he had, and suddenly the lashes of the Dwarven King-in-Exile fluttered, and the most wondrous thing happened. Slight pink spilled on his cheekbones, and Wren could wager her best surgical blade on it, his tanned skin above the black beard was right in front of her nose. Wren industriously pushed thoughts of the aforementioned beard, skin, lashes… and honestly speaking the rest of his moody, overbearing self, in the farthest corner of her mind. Again. And no, it hadn't been the thousandth time. Today.

"Nothing of importance..." Oh! Shifty eyes as well?!

Wren knew she honestly didn't seem like one these days, but she was a smart lass. That was easy to forget considering she was travelling to Maiar knew where in the company of thirteen Dwarves, a Hobbit and a wizard, having signed a contract in the state more intoxicated than one of a brandied pear, but still there was a wee bit of something in that ridiculous ginger head of hers.

"Hm, I see..." She hummed and opened her sack. She fished out arnica and parsley ointment out of it and dabbed a clean cloth in it. The King opened his mouth clearly to protest. "Beryl does have a wonderful aim with a rock, doesn't she?" She gave him a pleasant polite smile for good measure. That was for calling her 'honourable healer' after she had allowed him to use her first name, back then in the Bree infirmary. She had never allowed another man such liberty, and he had thrown it aside like it were nothing of importance!

Wren leaned in closer to apply the balm on the bulging purple bruise, but she might as well push the cloth in his wide open mouth. Oh right, he was intending to say something! Pity his jaw was now hanging so low, Wren thought sarcastically. She pressed the cloth onto the brow, and he closed the mouth with a loud clank of teeth.

"I was… I was not… In any way..." Oh Maiar, the day was full of surprises, wasn't it? Apparently Dwarven Kings mumbled. Who'd know?

"You were not in any way trying to peep from out of shrubbery while two maidens were washing?" Wren asked in an innocent sing-song voice, and dabbed the brow several times.

The sound he made reminded her of the last choked squawk chicken made when their necks were snapped before they were put into soup. Wren tried to suppress a smile, but his widened eyes and now flaming cheekbones were such a contrast to his usual imperious disposition that she simply couldn't help it. A giggle was completely accidental as well.

"I was simply concerned for your safety!" He snarled through his teeth and gave her a glare. If he expected to intimidate her, he clearly didn't know that his lashes fluttered when he was embarrassed. And those were very long and fluffy lashes. She might have missed their majestic adorableness before, but now she was observing them in a very, very close proximity.

"Safety from stalkers, I suppose?" She asked and met his eyes. Look, he switched to huffing and puffing. She bet he would prefer to face an Orc right now. Or even a dozen. She was properly enjoying this.

"I… I haven't seen anything!" His voice was coarse from bashfulness.

"Has Nori?"

Bingo. Cue the second fall of the jaw. Honestly, did he think her doltish? Two and two usually made four, and Nori was now faring a torn off collar, by which he was clearly dragged out of those very shrubs around the lake.

The King decided that was the limit of his endurance, and he went for the most logical approach. He pursed his lips and his eyes grew distant. Petulant child look, Wren evaluated. Quite a spectacle.

After cleaning the bruise she had to admit that besides an impeccable aim Beryl also possessed a surprising strength for such a friendly looking, cute thing. The King needed stitches. Wren put the ointment away and pulled out the needle and thread set out of her bag. The King looked at it sideways like a horse unhappy to see a saddle, but said nothing.

Wren stitched, the King brooded. Wren had to also concede that she was holding her breath. The King smelled surprisingly nice, of woods and smoke and something else, grassy and masculine, and Maiar help her, it was probably his skin, and she didn't need these memories added to the myriad of the things she was definitely not thinking about. Such as his wide shoulders, and the confident stride, and now also the coarse whiskers in the beard, and the glossy black eyebrows that she wasn't under any circumstances fantasising to run her fingertip along. Maiar help her.

"Bofur will blabber..." The King's sudden line shook Wren out of her concentration. She halted the movement of her fingers and looked at him.

"Are you worried he will tell her the King of the Khazad is an ogler?" She honestly shouldn't have. He looked almost miserable by then. He gave her an irritated look but apparently decided to keep his gob shut. Wise decision. She wasn't the one sporting a black eye after sneaking in the shrubs.

"I wouldn't worry, he is probably just proposing," Wren consoled him and went back to patching his eyebrow. She didn't expect him to jerk and poke himself into the aforementioned brow with the needle she held in her hands. "Oh Maiar!"

"Proposing?!" He barked, and then immediately threw a concerned look at the Hobbit and the Dwarf amicably discussing Beryl's staff in Bofur's hands. Wren grabbed the Dwarven King under his chin and turned his face to her.

"Would you stay still? Or do you not need an eye?" She sounded very angry, but it was because she had just gotten very scared for the eye in question. He obeyed but continued to skew his eyes trying to see what was happening on the other end on the camp. Were he to receive a blow to the back of his head now, he would forever stay that way, for certain.

"My lord, could you please look at me? I am trying not to leave a scar here," Wren grumbled, and he tore his eyes from the conversing couple, though with difficulty.

"He is not the first one, is he?" The King suddenly asked. Slow, but not completely hopeless, Wren thought.

"I am quite certain Balin and Dwalin. Kili had a go, but he seemed to be more joking than being serious about it." The royal jaw once again succumbed to gravity.

"Balin?! He is older than me!" Hm, Wren thought, apparently the mighty King-in-Exile considered himself an old man. Wren would argue, but it was not the matter in question at the moment. "And Dwalin..." The King continued mumbling, his eyes astonished, and Wren snorted and went back to her needlework. "Nori was clearly heading the same way… And now Bofur..."

"Well, she is an enticing maiden. Why are you suprised? With the additional allure of her bloodline, she is practically a dream come true for a Dwarf," Wren answered absentmindedly, distracted by an especially tricky stitch. His skin was firm, much thicker than that of Men. Also it was hotter. Maiar help her, she surely didn't need this knowledge.

The King was silent, and Wren finally finished her work. She realised she had the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth, the ridiculous habit she had when concentrating, and she cleared her throat in embarrassment. She tied a knot at the end of the thread and suddenly realised that the King was studying her face just like she had a few minutes ago. She clearly imagined how he could see her disgusting freckles and the foolish turn-up nose right in front of him, to say nothing of her strange eyes, and her cheeks burned. She straightened up and jumped away from him.

"Well, my lord," now she was squeaky but at least her nose wasn't full of the spicy fresh smell of his skin. Maiar have mercy over her. "All done."

"And what about Fili?" Some new emotions danced in the King's blue eyes, and Wren blushed even more furiously. Right, that…

"What about him?" She shifted between her feet, and damn it, she was right. That was mischief she saw in the glacial irises.

"He hasn't proposed yet, has he? Even after you so deftly arranged her ride with him." The King slightly cocked the healthy brow, and Wren gulped. Firstly, the brow was muddling her thoughts, and her knees were growing strangely weak. Secondly, she was as guilty as a fox in the chicken run.

"Um..." She honestly had nothing better. And then she saw the corners of his lips twitch. Apparently he wasn't angry. And could smile teasingly. Well, at least there was a hint of a glimpse of a shadow of a smile.

"That is quite an ineloquent answer from such a wordy person such as yourself, honourable healer," his velvet voice dropped even lower, and curse her nose, it was now twitching frantically. "And to think of it I completely trusted all your arguments to why she had to ride with no other but my older nephew..."

"It was logical!" Wren squealed.

"Was it, now?" His voice was as close to purring as she could imagine, and goosebumps trickled down her spine.

"And it's not that he refused the offer!" Wren hissed defensively, and the corners of his lips curled up.

"He didn't, did he? After all, you were right, she is indeed an enticing lass." The King was now half-smiling, there was warmth in his tone, and Wren suddenly lost interest in this conversation.

Wren was used to admiring Beryl's curves and luscious locks, as well as the even skin and wonderfully rosy cheeks, but having him suddenly say it outloud… well, that simply hurt, and she hastily stuffed her supplies in the sack. And there she had always thought she was well accustomed to being the greenest apple on the branch. Well, not just greenest, let's face it, there was the question of the lacking size and the appalling haircolour as well. It was just that before it mattered not. She did not care, and it wasn't as if anything could be done about her loud unattractiveness.

A terrifying image flashed through her mind. Perhaps the King was the next in line of the suitors. She peeked and just to confirm her horrifying suspicion she saw his eyes on the Hobbit, some thoughtful warm expression dancing in his them. Wren felt sick in her stomach and rushed away. Breaking her oath under the contract and cowardly fleeing back home suddenly didn't seem like such an impossible thought. And then her treacherous mind pushed another excruciating thought unto her. Beryl probably wouldn't refuse. Who would, after all? Wren swallowed with difficulty.

She was shuffling away from the King and wasn't looking anywhere but under her feet. She guessed whom she bumped into an instant before she heard Beryl's voice.

"How much trouble am I in? I'm scared out of my gourd here." Beryl grabbed Wren's sleeve, and the healer lifted her eyes and met the Hobbit's terrified brown orbs. Maiar help Wren, the Hobbit was indeed very lovely. And lively. And a Dwarven princess for that matter. And good with a staff. Essentially, everything Wren wasn't. Wren clenched her teeth, took a measured breath in and reminded herself she was not an envious shrew, and Beryl Baggins was her friend.

"You are not in trouble at all," Wren softly patted Beryl's small round hand, frantically fisted around the handful of Wren's tunic.

"Come again?"

"Well, as I see it, you defended us when we were in a vulnerable position. And it wasn't your fault you hit one Dwarf and not the other. They both had no place to roam in those bushes. Just say you are sorry and if he gives you grief, remind him he was sneaking up on two half-bare maidens. That'll put him to order."

"Come with?" Beryl asked pleadingly.

Wren honestly wanted to help her friend, she knew Beryl was intimidated by the grumpy King, and Wren was often surprised that she herself wasn't, but suddenly it was all a bit too much for her. She decided she would allow herself one little moment of weakness. She had always tried to act with decency and would continue so, but the intrusive image of the King accepting Beryl's apology with a warm smile and then their conversation taking some unexpected turn kept on drilling into Wren's head, dull ache in the temple signalling the upcoming hemicrania, and the healer pressed her lips and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Beryl, I just need a moment… You will be alright, worry not," she tried to give the Hobbit an encouraging smile, but it came out rather shaky, "I swear he is more embarrassed than you are and will readily accept your apology."

And with the final nod Wren left the Hobbit behind and walked away from the camp. She just needed a moment to wallow in her misery and maybe cry a bit. Never harmed anyone.

She found a nice comfortable stump for herself and buried her face into her knees. Tears didn't come but, let's face it, she was not much for self-pity. If anything she felt irritated with her own stupidity. Falling for a Dwarf, and a King for that matter, was the most preposterous, dim-witted thing she could have done, possibly only less so than going on a long journey with him, and judging by the latest events, also in the company with a very desirable female Hobbit. Wren industriously thumped her forehead into her knees half dozen times and exhaled noisily. There wasn't much to be done after all, and she just had to do what she always had done in her life. Do her duty, be a good friend and a decent person.

She really shouldn't be wandering away as well, to think of it. She had that sword Beryl had given her strapped to her belt, but she honestly wasn't that good with a blade. Throwing knives perhaps, but as beautiful as this thing was, it would do her no good against an Orc. Or a bear. Wren sighed and sat up. It was time to go back to the camp and face whatever life had in store for her.


	17. The Nicknames: a birthday interlude

**A/N: Ladies and Gents, as a birthday present to me, I'm sharing with you a complete list of the nicknames. The update is ready to roll for Monday, so don't forget to stop by for your usual dose of Broomy goodness.**

* * *

**Beryl's list of Nicks for the Dwarves:**

Balin: Grand Uncle

Dwalin: Berserker Uncle, previously Bruiser

Fili: Blonde Scamp

Kili: Brown Scamp or Cheeky

Nori: Sneaky

Dori: Fussbudget

Ori: Bashful

Bifur: Mumbles

Bofur: Mischief

Bombur: Lumpy

Oin: Hardly "cause he can hardly hear, and hardly cares he can't"

Gloin: Cranky

Thorin: His Grumpiness


	18. Matchmaker Baggins, at your service

**A/N: kkolmakov was kind enough to help me with this dialog. I simply adore her take on Thorin. **

**I finally cornered Beryl and got her to fess up she did actually come up with a nick for Wren. It's GingerSnap. If anyone wants her, she'll be in hiding from the Wrath of Wren.**

* * *

Beryl approached Thorin with all the confidence of a woman approaching the headsman. Wren assured her he wasn't mad, but it did nothing for the butterflies in her stomach. She'd believe it when she was able to walk away from the encounter on her own two feet.

"Thorin?" She waited for his attention to turn back to her from where it'd gone trailing after the retreating healer. She wondered at Wren's stooped shoulders and flat step. What had her so down, especially considering… holy mothering mercy, was that a smile? Thorin was smiling. Time to mark the calendar again.

"Mistress Baggins?" Beryl was properly taken aback by the inviting smile and warm demeanor. She's dealing with feely Thorin, and she never knew how to handle that.

"I wanted to apologize, for the black eye. I had no idea it was you in the shrubbery." Seriously, seeing the same warm expression on his clock that was usually on Fili's was causing serious issues. It was like watching a fish swim through the air.

"It is quite alright, Mistress Baggins, you meant no harm and had every right to protect yourself. I am certain it will heal in no time." Thorin gently tapped next to the stitches, still smiling like a proper loon.

"Y'know… I can't help but think there's easier ways to spend time with our healer." Beryl cut her eyes towards Thorin to see how the words were received. His warm demeanor had sent her worries scuttling, and the inveterate matchmaker took center stage.

Still smiling, Thorin raised the uninjured brow in a familiar sardonic look. He wasn't quite to angry Thorin, but Beryl felt it might not take much to set him off. Unfortunately, tact wasn't her strongest suit. Plain dealing was.

"Are you not forgetting yourself, Mistress Baggins?"

"If I had any proper sense, would I be on this madcap adventure at all?" Beryl raised her hands as if to take in the rough camp around her. No Hobbit with sense would be caught dead camping rough. Hobbits were meant for cozy homes and warm hearths.

"You do seem to be fond of intruding where you are not welcome." If Thorin thought to scare her off track with his narrowed, steely gaze, he forgot which Hobbit he was dealing with. Like always, he managed to stoke her temper. She didn't have time now to be intimidated or scared stiff.

"Says the Dwarf sporting a shiner for that very reason." She huffed back quick as a shot. Her arms were now folded angrily in front of her.

"I was defending you from yet another suitor's advances, Mistress Baggins, I will not intrude anymore." She wondered if Thorin enjoyed looking down his nose at her. She was probably one of the few people he could do that to. Too bad it worked about as well as… wait, what?

"Another one? What in the world? No please, intrude all you want on that score." Beryl sputtered to a halt for a moment. She still didn't know what to think of all that Dwarvish nonsense, but she did know what to think of Thorin dragging Nori out of the brush. That wasn't just for her sake. Protecting Wren would have been a major factor, would be her guess. Beryl thought a moment, and a very impish smile took center stage and words fell before she could stop them. "So, what are ye gonna do about it, then?"

"About your popularity among my men? Nothing, I expect," Thorin now sat with arms crossed, and a rather peevish expression. Long gone was the smiling and warm Thorin of just minutes ago.

"No, I meant about a certain healer that thinks the sun rises and sets on your grumpy head." Beryl watched him freeze in place. She wondered if he was mentally indulging in the Dwarven equivalent of a happy jig. Not an image she needed right now. He'd never believe her if she broke out in silly giggles from the mental image of a jigging Thorin.

"Now, I see her interest in you, I also see your interest in her, but for some reason, neither of you see the other's interest in each other. So, I ask again: what are you going to do about it?" Thorin's steely mask wavered, the healthy brow twitched and the blue eyes focused on Beryl. He gave her a long evaluating look, as if measuring her up in terms of an open conversation, and then his face softened.

"Well, definitely I am not going to discuss it with you." Somehow the laughing wrinkles running from the corners of his eyes gave the lie away.

"So, ye gonna discuss it with her, then?" Beryl raised her eyebrow to match his, giving him his own look back. His lip twitch was back, too.

"Beryl Baggins, do not meddle in what you do not understand," he gave her warm laughing look. He then glanced at the woods where Wren's little figure disappeared, and there might have been a wistful sigh somewhere in the puffed up Dwarven chest. "And what is there to discuss..."

"Well, for one thing, the sad little look and drooping shoulders she was carrying just now, methinks she has the wrong impression from you, goodness only knows what or how." Beryl's look followed his, concerned for the healer. Seeing him still sitting there, Beryl elaborated for him. "So, go fix it already!" Beryl made shooing motions, as if scattering chickens.

"And have her think what of me?" Thorin sounded irritated but uncomfortable too. Clearly the man wanted to talk but didn't know how. They surely should teach them that early. "It matters not," he stubbornly shook his head. "Not that the truth is any better..."

"Thorin, what's really keeping you from going after her?" Beryl's voice softened, concerned.

"Beryl," he returned her soft tone and added in a slightly exasperated voice, "I see you mean well, but find yourself a younger man to matchmake..."

"You ridiculous Dwarf!" Beryl started to swat the King on the back of his head, only to find her wrist caught quickly before it even got close. Her lips curved into a wide smile. "Old, huh? Those reflexes don't seem so old to me." The King snorted and softly released her hand.

"Honestly? Have you not noticed her feeding your Daisy extra apples, or watching you with the sappiest expression I ever saw on her face, or making sure you get the first bowl at supper time? She doesn't want someone younger. She. Wants. You."

Thorin actually had his mouth open to answer something, but Beryl never found out what. A warg howl interrupted whatever he was going to say.

"No!" Thorin was off like a shot to the ponies. Grabbing one that hadn't been unsaddled yet, Thorin wheeled the pony sharply around toward the direction Wren had gone. He barked something in Khuzdul Beryl hadn't a chance of figuring out before she found herself in the middle of a Dwarven phalanx with Gandalf around the campfire, one of them kindly shoving her newly reinforced staff into her hand. Only, how was she supposed to use it one handed? Her left arm was still mostly useless.

Out of the evening shadows, several wargs and ugly as sin Orcs advanced on them, jaws slavering and eyes glinting with malice. She wasn't going to go down easy, and none of her Boys seemed inclined to do so either.


	19. Fracas and Frolics

**A/N: No Wren this chapter, but she'll be back in style next. Enjoy the Fracas. And yes, it IS a wee bit early, isn't it?**

* * *

Camp had been made against the undercut side of a small hill, leaving only one side for the Orcs to come at them. They moved en masse towards the Company and created the impression of bowling pins in Beryl's mind. Bowling pins, the thought brought a wide, wicked smile to settle in for the long haul on Beryl's face.

"Heeeeeeyooooooooowhup!" All the Orcs and wargs turned to search out where the frantic whinnying and whickering came from before twenty ponies thundered down on top of them, some of the ponies still carrying saddles or baggage. Fili and Kili hadn't finished picketing them before Thorin called the Company to arms. To compound the confusion, random blasts of light seemed to erupt from the ponies' hooves, making them seem not quite of this world, causing warg and Orc alike to shy away from them. Beryl could only imagine Gandalf was to thank for that.

The disarray amongst the Orcs from the ponies and lightworks made it that much easier for twelve Dwarves and a determined Hobbit to turn it into a complete route. Beryl abandoned her staff for the cooking stones practically under her heels. A long history of baking and cooking left her palms practically heat proof, so she threw her fire warmed missiles at any and every vulnerable spot she could find.

Kili had hopped up atop Thorin's fallen log, and was feathering Orcs and wargs as the targets presented themselves. Bombur, who had been fixing supper, had only his massive ladle out. He still defanged a warg that wandered too close. Balin and Dwalin had taken up position around Beryl, keeping wargs and Orcs both at a distance. None of them cared for the bite of Dwalin's axes or Balin's mace.

A warg managed to climb the hill behind them, meaning to leap down on them. An arrow and Bifur's spear found him before he finished clearing the edge. Bifur flung the warg off into the milling bunch before them, roaring something truly frightful sounding the whole time. Nori used the confusion of the ponies to slip in and amongst the Orcs and wargs, causing further confusion and mayhem as he went. Gloin and Bofur both had their long axes out, and were keeping one flank of the group free and clear. Fili and Dori, long blades whirling, protected the other flank.

The Orcs had no clear shot at them, and any attempt to get closer was met with a sharp rebuttal. Between Beryl and Ori's wicked missiles (they had started a competition to see who could disable more targets) and Kili's arrows, they were left with no means to press their attack. The Orcs and wargs milled in confusion. What were they waiting for?

It wasn't a what they were waiting for, but a who. It was so far the biggest, ugliest Orc Beryl ever laid eyes on. He seemed to be covered in what appeared to be ritualistic scars. They swirled in vulgar designs over his visible body. To take him down a peg, Beryl aimed a particularly sharp rock for his face. He swatted her rock away, but even he wasn't quick enough to stop the second rock Ori had sent right in its wake. It split the skin of his piggish nose, and he stumbled back a step, snarling. He garbled something out in the most guttural and wretched sounding mess to ever assault Beryl's ears, and sharply gestured what seemed a retreat, since he and his merry band left suddenly thereafter.

They did not leave quietly, and the Dwarves and Beryl held their guard long after the last snarl or swishing branches were heard. In fact, Beryl's ears had been voted the sharpest of the company, and none of them let out a breath of relief until she called the all clear.

"What," Beryl had to take a moment to catch her galloping heart. "What was that?"

"That was an Orc pack, lassie." Dwalin was already setting up a watch pattern, calling Bifur, Nori, and Bofur to help. Fili and Kili were back on pony duty.

"And led by none other than Bolg, himself." Balin was stroking his beard in a most thoughtful manner.

"This makes him special, why?" Beryl wondered if her Dwarves were always going to piecemeal everything out to her.

"It matters, dear Beryl, because he has a blood feud with the Line of Durin. I may be a while. Be sure to have camp packed and ready to leave upon Thorin's return." Gandalf left in a flurry of grey robes, disappearing into the night. The Dwarves and Beryl quickly started breaking down the camp they'd worked so hard just a few short hours before to put up, back when a good night's rest seemed within easy reach.

Fili and Kili caught and checked the ponies over. Not all of them came out of the fray unscathed, and the worried looks the brothers exchanged had Beryl fearing some of the dear creatures might not survive the night.

"How many do we have left travel worthy?" Beryl hated asking.

"Sixteen safe to ride and carry packs, if Thorin's mount comes back in one piece. The other four have some troubling injuries." Fili inspected a warg bite on a pony's haunch. "We were lucky they were focused on us and mostly ignored the ponies."

"It sounds more like the ponies were lucky." Beryl thought frantically. "Can't we send for them, once we get to Rivendell?"

"There's no guarantee whomever we sent would get here before something happened to them, Beryl. Anyway, if we can leave them packless, they should be able to follow alright." Kili was cleaning another bite on another pony's neck. It looked horrible. "Think you could stitch this for him, Beryl?"

"Yes, but you'll have to sacrifice some of your ale for it." Kili made a face at her, but produced a flask when she reappeared with her emergency sewing kit. Kili had to cover the pony's eyes and hold his head while she stitched. Some of Beryl's opinions of the warg as she tended the damage had Kili practically howling as he laid against the poor pony's head. That poor dear was as good as gold while she worked, and got an extra apple for his troubles.

"Any others in need?" She scratched the pony between the ears, leaning against the warm withers.

"Nah, the wounds are clean, they should be fine 'til Rivendell." Fili leaned across the back of the piebald he'd just finished tending.

"So, what's the story with the Big Ugly?" Beryl had the two youngests' attention, and while they weren't the gossipmongers Bofur was, they certainly weren't as tightlipped as the elders of the group.

"How about an exchange?" Fili made himself comfortable on the makeshift fence they were using for the ponies. His devilish grin proof enough Beryl needed to tread carefully where scampish deals were concerned.

"In exchange for what?" Beryl leaned back on a burlap full of supplies that wouldn't make the trip to Rivendell, arms crossed in front of her.

"You promised to share the nicknames you came up with for everyone." Fili gently reminded her, dimples winking in the faint moonlight.

"Fine! Now spill it!" Beryl's impatience had both scamps grinning ear to ear. She huffed at the pair of them.

"It's not a pretty story, Beryl." Warned Kili as he joined his brother at the fence.

"Neither are some of the nicknames, now stop prevaricating!" Beryl waved a 'carry on' at both brothers.

"After losing Erebor, Grandfather, King Thror, led those he could to take back Khazad Dum. Dwarves from as far away as Ered Luin and the Iron Hills answered. Our own cousin Dain lead a contingency from the Iron Hills. A dragon might be beyond the strength of Dwarves, but Orcs? That was a fight any Dwarf felt the equal to. It was time, they all agreed, to take back our first home, to take back Khazad Dum." Fili warmed to his subject as he pulled out his pipe, preparing it for a smoke.

"And the battle was a horror the likes which none of us ever hope to see again in this world or the next." Balin joined them out of the shadows. "You boys have heard the tales, many times, but I don't think you understand, not like those of us who were there do, and I pray it remains so." Beryl gestured to the pack next to her. It was more of the supplies that they were going to have to leave behind. It was the best seat she could offer at the moment. Balin seated himself next to her, and continued his story.

"Moria had been taken by legions of orcs, led by the most vile of all their race, Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the king." Balin seemed not to hear the soft gasp from Beryl, and both nephews sat with their heads bowed. "Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief, he went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. Thorin rallied the troops, standing fierce before the wrath of Azog the Defiler, his armor rent, and left with naught but an oak branch against this most terrible foe. Dain was the first to his side, calling the Iron Dwarves to his standard. They were coming, but still to far to protect the kinsmen standing against the kingslayer. We were sure we were about to see the last of the Line of Durin." Balin smiled.

"And that's when the Strength of Durin's Line showed itself, in the midst of this horror. The Heirs of Durin shone like the Arkenstone itself. Even as Azog swung at Thorin, Dain took the Pale Orc's head. The Orcs, seeing their invincible leader struck down, fell back in disarray. Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated, but there was no feast, nor song that night for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived."

"So, you didn't get Khazad Dum back?" Beryl had curled up next to Balin as he spoke, hugging her knees tightly, her voice unusually small sounding in the still of the night.

"No, to go in chasing the Orcs would have killed what few of us remained. Even as the Orcs bore their headless leader's body back inside, one among them swore to finish his father's work, and that one you saw tonight, Bolg."

"Well then, he'd just better get used to disappointment." Beryl felt her temper stir. After everything her Boys had already lost- home, kith, and kin- she wasn't about to let them lose a thing more. That was a promise she made heart deep and meant to keep.

"Now, what was this I heard about nicknames?" Balin decided to turn their thoughts from such sorrowful topics, and thanks to a wicked humor he seemed to share with the scamps, lit on the one topic Beryl just as soon keep from him.

"Oh mercy save me!" Beryl buried her burning face in her hands as the nephews nearly lost their perch in their merriment.


	20. See, what had happened was

**A/N: Written with the help of the inestimable kkolmakov. We finally find out what happened with Thorin and Wren.**

* * *

Thorin approached the camp with Wren on the saddle in front of him, Beryl saw one of the healer's hands clutching his brigandine. She was holding the Elven sword in her other hand, and Beryl saw blood dripping off the blade. Thorin carefully lowered her off the saddle before heading towards the rest of the Company, and Beryl just barely caught the small healer before she hit the ground. The slender healer was shaking like a leaf in a high wind.

"Is anyone… injured?" The bright white teeth of the healer were chattering quite loudly.

"No, everyone's fine," Beryl reassured her, and the healer sagged into her arms completely.

"Then I think I will faint now. Or throw up. I haven't decided yet." Beryl patted her back in sympathy.

The healer didn't do either, but it took everything Beryl had to drag her over to a fallen tree by the fire. Wren was shaking but refused to let go of her sword. Wrapped in several blankets and her cloak, Wren was clutching the sword to her chest, and Beryl only just managed to exchange it for a mug of Wren's favourite tea with honey.

A few first sips seemed to slightly help.

"There was a warg in the woods..." The healer's small voice was hardly audible. "It came out from between the trees..." Beryl sat down near Wren and rubbed her shoulders. The healer's usually red lips were pale, and with worry Beryl saw the dilated pupils and pulse frantically beating at her temple.

"You aren't injured, are you?" She looked over Wren with worry, but the healer shook her head.

"It snarled at me and jumped… It happened so fast, I couldn't understand anything, and I just held the sword up, and it entered into the temporomandibular joint..." The healer blanched even more and gulped loudly. Vomiting was becoming more and more probable. "I've never seen anything that terrifying in my life. And I am afraid of dogs!" The little voice broke into a squeak. "Even wee ones like that!" She clumsily gestured something under a foot of length with one hand and her mug that sloshed tea. "And there was another one, and then Thorin showed up..."

At this point Wren's breath came in short frantic pants, and the mug was vibrating so much that it looked like she was watering her cloak with the tea. Beryl carefully pulled it out of the healer's weak fingers and set it to the side.

"He… He hacked it… It sounded so horrible! And I have heard flesh cut before, don't get me wrong... But this... This was… But before it he galloped by me on Daisy and grabbed me, and jerked me up, and I was in the saddle, I thought my head would get torn off from the jerk, and then he went whoo-o-o-osh, and... hack!" The healer's voice reached the highest pitch Beryl had heard from her. Beryl was put in mind of when Wren had her half a half a half.

Beryl put a comforting arm around Wren, and made soft murmurs as one would a child woken from night terrors, but the healer twisted out of her embrace and grabbed Beryl's shoulders with astonishing force for such small hands.

"It was not the worst, Beryl!" The healer suddenly shook Beryl so hard she felt her eyes were being used for dice. "It was horrible! Simply horrible! Hundred times worse than the warg" Wren again shook Beryl, rattling her molars like maracas.

"Gracious, Wren, what happened then?" Beryl was finally loosed from the frantic shaking.

The healer suddenly emitted a strange choked wail and hid her face behind her hands. There was some quiet mumbling from there, occasionally peppered with squeaks. 'Long sword,' 'hair' and 'so fast' was all Beryl heard out of the muttering.

"Wrennie? What?" Beryl peeped between the healer's fingers, trying to meet her eyes.

"He was just so..." Wren was now flailing her arms like a baby bird learning to fly. "And he just swept me! Like a kitten or something! And my head was spinning, and I'd just killed a warg! A giant warg!.. And the teeth!.. And the second one fell on the ground, and the head rolled, and did... pum, pum… It bounced, Beryl! And I just..." Apparently the healer finally ran out of air and froze with saucer wide eyes and fingers splayed in the air.

"What? Wren? Tell me."

"I kissed him!" The squeak was enough to knock bats down mid-flight. Wren looked completely traumatized. "I don't know how it happened! I grabbed his ears and kissed him! Have you seen their ears?! Oh Maiar help me!" That was the end of the healer's endurance, and she folded up with her face hidden behind her knees.

Beryl stayed with her, softly patting her back and murmuring words of encouragement. Inside, she was doing her own happy dance of glee. Oh, no doubt the two stubborn knotheads had a way to go yet, but the first important steps had been taken. Even they'd have to admit there was something there, if a kiss affected her this strongly. Now if only she could pry what Thorin was thinking out of him.

"I am going to die of shame…" The healer seemed to be calming down, at least the hiccups were subsiding. "How am I going to look at him now?"

"Wren, how did he react to the kiss?" Beryl decided to try her luck. Maybe Wren could give her an answer, maybe not. The healer groaned into her knees.

"He didn't have time to react. I just went for it… Maiar help me, it's all because of those ears… I could never stop staring at them… And he was right in front of my nose… And he is so..."

"Well, consider this, Thorin's first worry when the warg howled was your safety." That tidbit of knowledge earned Beryl one eye peeking over the healer's knees. "And you are the only everloving person I've seen that Dwarf smile for." Now Beryl had her full attention. Wren bolted straight up, staring at Beryl with her mouth hanging.

"Are you hinting?.. You are not… Saying… I mean, what you are saying…"

"No, Wren. I'm telling you. He's as strung up over you as you are him. Bet on it." Beryl's voice was firm and sure, leaving no room to doubt her sincerity.

"I'd laugh at your words, Beryl Baggins, but somehow it is not funny..." Wren pressed the heels of both palms to her temples. "Did I hit my head for good measure?"

"Wren, you did not hit your head, and you are not suffering unrequited love. That. Dwarf. Loves. You." Wren continued to blink in massive incomprehension.

"That Dwarf?" Wren pointed at the right Dwarf with her finger. At the other end of the camp where the Company finished packing and loading what gear they could take on the remaining travel worthy ponies.

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King in Exile of the Longbeards. That Dwarf." Beryl was beginning to wonder if it would ever sink in, poor Wren.

"Well, now I'm certainly going to faint." Wren swayed slightly and folded back into her position.

"Thorin! Come catch her!" It was a hard thing, trying to sound alarmed when Beryl felt this giddy.

"I am fine!" Wren was immediately sitting straight, but it was too late. The Dwarf was already marching towards them.

"Wren's not feeling so well, I think it's shock. I don't think she'll be able to stay on her pony by herself." Beryl gave Thorin a Very Meaningful Gaze, A Foot Tapping Meaningful Gaze, even. Beryl pretended not to feel the dagger filled stare of one Upset healer as she waited for Thorin's reply.

"She will ride with me then," the King's tone was cold and business like, and Wren emitted a protesting whimper. "No time for discussion. The wargs and Orcs will be back." He held out his hand to Wren who for some inconceivable reason took it, and he pulled her after him to his pony. She plodded obediently, but not before throwing an 'I blame you for this' look at Beryl over her shoulder.

Beryl, of course, was too busy contemplating her own personal purgatory, namely riding with Fili. It was going to be a long night for her and Wren.


	21. Oh Tra-la-lalley!

**A/N: Our fearless crew finally make it to Rivendell. Enjoy! As always, thank you for the kind reviews.**

* * *

Riding with a still laughing Fili was exactly as torturous as she thought it'd be. One look at one of the other Dwarves was all it'd take, especially Bombur or Thorin, and he was off laughing again. Every so often, his own Dwarfish ears would peek out of those long lovely blonde locks, and she'd remember what Wren said about Thorin's. Beryl really hadn't taken stock before, now they constantly teased her. Confusticate Wren and her insidious ideas. It was entirely too easy now to envision grabbing those ears to hold him steady for a snogging he wouldn't soon forget. Yep, she had to admit to herself now, at least. She was properly head over heels for the golden prince.

Then there was the rumbling chest to contend with. It actually soothed her back somewhat, providing a nice warm massage, but it kept the butterflies in her stomach in constant flight. Of course his laughter was enough to set Wren glaring at them anytime she had line of sight, and remind Beryl of his ears again to boot.

Wren didn't yet know about the nicknames so she obviously thought Fili was laughing for a completely different reason. Beryl wondered what would happen if Wren ever heard her own nickname. The feisty healer might just approve of GingerSnap. Fili eventually decided discretion was the better part of valor, and rode back in the line next to Dwalin and Balin, who had less humorous titles.

It was a very trying ride, but it did eventually end. The last stars were fading from the sky when a hidden valley practically opened up at their feet with no warning. The company gazed in wide eyed wonder at the graceful trees, scenic waterfalls, and airy architecture that melded seamlessly with its natural surroundings.

Thankfully, they did not stumble blindly into Rivendell. The switchback trails were hazardous and confusing. Even Gandalf, who had rejoined them sometime around noon looking haggard and worn, wasn't completely confident as to which trail safely led to the Last Homely House.

"Well, isn't this a party to excite gossip for weeks to come?" The speaker was a dark haired elf with a warm smile and laughing grey eyes. Behind him the rest of his group called out jokes and welcome amidst raucous laughter and jocular song. The merrymakers were having a picnic party under a spreading oak near the entrance. A large tapped barrel behind the speaker provided a clue to the band's jovial and familiar attitude.

"One does wonder how Gandalf ever pried Beryl out of her smial." That perked Beryl's ears up. Who was she that elves would bother to gossip about her?

"Or how a mild healer of Bree found her way here?" Beryl watched Wren's head come up at that. Gandalf was talking to the elf that greeted them. The elf agreed to lead them into Rivendell, and everyone was dismounting to lead the ponies down the narrow and apparently hazardous trail. This was going to hurt. Her back pinged bad enough with Fili to lean back against, but walking all the way to the Last Homely House? She wasn't looking forward to it.

Fili must have seen some of her consternation. "Beryl, you know I'd be happy to carry you, if your back gets tired?"

"No, thank you, though. If it isn't safe for the ponies to carry us, it certainly isn't safe for you to carry me. I'll be fine." Beryl was quickly swept off her feet with an indignant squeak.

"Come, Beryl Baggins. We know of your injuries, and an elf is more surefooted than any dwarf or pony."

"Why you pompous…" Beryl didn't get any further, as Gandalf cut in before she could verbally bury herself.

"Beryl, kindly remember you are in no shape to walk, you are a guest, and he is only trying to expedite your trip to the infirmary." Thankfully, the elf carrying her chose to be amused by Beryl's furious pout, and never seemed to notice the three death glares boring holes in his back from her two guardians and Fili.

While the elf lightly traipsed down the narrow path, the Dwarves, being wider built, had to tread carefully. The Dwarves also had the added burden of watching their ponies' footing as well. The narrow path was enough to cause palpitations. The narrow stone bridge across the river was a heart stopper.

The glib elf prattled merrily about everything and nothing as he all but danced across the smooth wet marble. Beryl's heart skittered in terror as Her Boys crept carefully across the slick, railless bridge. What insanity believed a narrow marble bridge low enough to be bathed in river spray was a good idea? Apparently, the Last Homely House wanted few visitors.

The trail finally opened up, and the elf passed Beryl off to Fili with a low bow and a knowing smirk. Beryl's heart sped up for no apparent reason, even as she felt herself relax into the Dwarf's arms. Beryl didn't care for the grin on Wren's face, or the considering look Thorin kept throwing her way. Didn't those two have their own concerns to iron out?

Elrohir, their guide, called a melodic greeting in what she was sure was Sindarin to several others carrying out mundane tasks on the veranda as they made their way up to the impressive edifice. If that were a homely house, Beryl wasn't sure she could stand whatever elves took for grand or imposing.

Elrond himself came out to greet their footsore band. He chatted amiably with Gandalf and Elrohir, who she now learned was one of his twin sons. All that aimless chatter he insisted on, and that little fact escaped mention. Beryl wondered at it, and silently thanked Gandalf for his timely intervention.

The company was soon sorted out, and Fili, still carrying Beryl, followed a green robed elf to the infirmary. He stayed long after both Balin and Dwalin were satisfied she was being properly treated for her lingering injuries from the Troll encounter. She didn't mind, much. Fili was good company. He was, next to Bofur and Kili, an excellent accomplice into the bargain. Which Beryl was about to put to good use.

"Think you could find your way to the library here?" Beryl burrowed deep into the pile of goose down pillows. Already she could feel her back relaxing. The painful twinges would soon be little more than a cautionary memory to not meddle in the affairs of Trolls.

"How do you even know there is a library?" Fili sat next to her in a delicately carved chair. It amazed her slightly when the chair did not fall to pieces when the sturdy weight of the dwarf settled on it.

'Are you joking? Look at this massive place full of emmmm, cultured elves." Beryl thought better of the word 'snooty' the minute the healer came back in the room. No point in insulting their hosts. The medicines they insisted would help her heal faster could quickly quit tasting so refreshing if she irked them enough. "If there isn't a library, I'll forego second breakfast for a week."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do. Is there a particular book you're looking for?"

"Filli, we're off to tangle with a dragon. I need all the dragon lore I can find. Surely something in there will help me figure out how to manage this unmanageable task."

"Alright, I'll ask around, see if Elrond's library holds any dragon lore for you." Fili's eyes danced. "Anything else before I go?" She could tell he thought he was simply humoring her. She decided to burst his bubble, just a touch.

"Yep." Her slow grin spread ear to ear.

"What is it?" Suddenly, Fili's voice sounded cautious. Whatever could he be thinking?

"When you and Kili do get around to pranking Elrohir, I wanna watch!" She laughed at his open mouthed surprise. She was pretty sure Fili already had a half dozen plans to prank Elrohir like no tomorrow. Prank plans she was sure Kili, Bofur, Nori and even quiet Ori would be too happy to help bring to fruition. She meant to see at least some of the fall out. Something in Elrohir's manner, maybe in the tales he chose to share, told her he wasn't above a prank or two himself. She saw the makings of an epic prank war.


	22. Prank Wars and Dragon Lores

**A/N: Okay, I'm one of those authors that REALLY likes replying to her reviews. Every person who has been kind enough to review has had at least one email reply from me, if not a full discussion exploding their inbox in reply to reply to reply (if I have somehow overlooked your review, it was an accident, I assure you. Email me, I'll natter your ear off, promise). Sadly, guest reviews do not leave authors that luxury. So, I'm asking my readers: would you be upset by replies in an author note at the end of the chapter? Would they be better at the top? Please, let me know what you think.~ Now on with the story!**

* * *

Elrond had graciously agreed to put them up for the two weeks it'd take for Beryl's injuries to heal. Already the strength was returning to her left hand, and she could move around longer before her back started complaining. So she was quietly sitting on a breezy balcony when the most stunning sight greeted her disbelieving eyes. She never thought she'd live to see such a day.

She saw a harried and disarrayed elf. It was Glorfindel, soaking wet and covered in pond scum and frog spawn. The prank war that had been raging the entire week had finally claimed its first collateral damage. He looked at her, his mouth moving silently. Finally, as the color crept up his perfect cheeks, words took shape. "I have endured war in all its horrors, faced down the foulest perversions Sauron could manifest, and yet all of it pales in comparison to the humiliation I now bear in my own home."

"Oh, Glor, surely it's not that bad?" Beryl tried valiantly to keep her voice level, the poor blonde Elf looked on the brink as it was.

"Frogs are hatching in my hair, Beryl. Do I look like the Brown Wizard to you?" Glorfindel stomped off to the bathing chambers. Beryl held her breath a long while before she let her laughter ring out loud and merry. Had Elrond any idea what havoc succoring Her Boys would bring upon his house? Could Imladris survive the rest of their visit?

It started mildly enough with Elrohir and Elladan finding their weapons covered in fresh pine sap and chicken down. Fili and Kili then found garter snakes nesting in their gambesons as retaliation. Dori was now making them new ones, as trying to remove a snake ball ended with a snakey gaseous assault. Apparently, the snakes produced a noxious odor that could put even orcs off their feed.

It did not take her prankster pair long to respond in kind. The twins were truly puzzled when they suddenly found their favorite hunting boots too big and their protective leather leggings too tight. She's still waiting to hear how the pair pulled that off, but she was willing to bet it required Nori's stealth and Bifur's legendary leather crafting skills. Today, whatever it was, ended with poor Glorfindel wearing most of the ornamental pond. Beryl shook her head and buried her nose back in the book she found.

It was an account of a cold drake that had attacked and killed a Dwarven king named Dain and his son. A name caught Beryl's attention, Thror. She needed to find Balin. It seemed this wasn't the first time this family faced dragon issues.

It took her the better part ot two hours before she found Balin taking his leisure in a shady nook of one of the many garden spots Rivendell boasted. "Balin? Do you have a moment? I have questions, and it may be a tender subject."

"Yes, Lassie, I have time enough for you. What have you found?" Balin shifted on his bench, making room for Beryl to sit next to him, as he continued to puff contentedly on his pipe.

"It's an account of a cold drake, named Scatha…"

"Oh Lassie, you have been digging, haven't you? Aye, the Thror of that sad tale is indeed the same Thror that is grandfather to Thorin." Balin nodded sagely to Beryl. "What is your question?"

"Are dragons just out to get his family? I mean, chased out of the Grey mountains by one, just to have another come calling once he's made a home in Erebor?"

"It was more a happy accident for the First Enemy, than any intentional design on his part." Balin puffed thoughtfully, but catching the confusion on Beryl's face, decided to elaborate. "The First enemy, known either as Melkior or Morgoth, was Sauron's master. Surely even as sheltered as you were in the Shire, you've heard of him?" He waited for Beryl's slow nod.

"Neither of them were capable of creating anything living. They could twist, and they could corrupt, but were incapable of creating on their own. That is why it is whispered Orcs and goblins are twisted elves, and why Trolls return to stone when struck by sunlight." At Beryl's startlement, Balin nodded. She settled and waited for him to continue. "No one is sure what Dragons were before their meddling, but when they were done, they were fearsome shock troops that tore easily through the ranks of the First Alliance.

That war was hard won, seeing the fall of many brave heroes, including our own Durin the Deathless. In the intervening years, the Dragons thrived without a master, and found comfortable homes in Dwarven halls once they'd evicted the current tenants. It was yet another savage war, only fought beneath the mountains, far from the prying eyes and cares of the other races. Eventually, the number of Dragons dwindled, but not without cost to the Dwarves, Durin's Folk bearing their share. Scatha was one of the last. He came down upon Dain's people, and he, his son, and the guard held the dragon at the gate long enough for the rest to evacuate, but they died there of their wounds. Scatha earned a pile of gold and empty halls to rest his mortal wounds upon.." Here Balin gave a sardonic huff. "He was robbed of that peaceful death by a brash human named Fram.

"That man then had the gall to send a necklace of Scatha's teeth with an insulting missive to enrage the Longbeards. The Longbeards rose up in anger as he planned. Fram lost everything, including his life, and his people were left a scattered remnant without even a clan name to hold them together.

"Dain and his son were laid to rest in stone as was proper, and we had regained our wealth enough to rebuild our kingdom. However, sorrow, pain and anger had soaked deeply into the stone of the Gray mountains, that none of Thror's people wanted to stay, especially with threat of another Dragon attack so close. Thror moved his people to Erebor, and we thought we'd found peace and safety at last. Smaug proved us wrong."

"Incredible. What's this bit about 'rings lost to dragon fire?'" Beryl pointed to the passage, now that she had the full story of Thorin's family and Dragon attacks, she was ready to explore some of the other interesting tidbits that had caught her eye.

"Ah, now that is an interesting tale. Sauron, through guile and crafts, sought to entrap the seven Dwarf lords with magic rings. The rings, however, did not work on Dwarves as it did the nine kings of Men. The men, some of them strong and fair at first, eventually became twisted shades at Sauron's every beck and call. The Dwarf lords never lost their will, though some claim they became almost as greedy as Dragons under the rings' influence. The rings were certainly useful in finding the best veins of precious metals and gems. Whether it was simply the assumption of those jealous of the Dwarf lords' riches, or an actual change in character of the ring bearers, none can now truthfully say. What is unquestionable is that they never bowed to Sauron's will."

"Although, considering four of them were eaten or melted by dragons, one could assume they were Dragon beacons."

"Wait, dragon fire can melt a magic ring?" Beryl winced as her voice squeaked shrill enough to grate on her own eardrums. Balin merely smiled at her.

"Lassie, as far as I know, there is precious little Dragon fire cannot melt."

"Then how does one fight a dragon?" Beryl huffed as she closed the tome in a loud 'whump.'

"That's not what we're after, Lass. All we need is the arkenstone. If we can sneak it out of the hoard, then we can call enough help to take back Erebor." This had been explained before to Beryl, so Balin was a little patronizing this time. He leaned back a little as she narrowed her gaze and glared at him.

"But we need a backup plan! There's every chance that simply taking the arkenstone will wake that beast, and then what?" Beryl and Balin's heads both jerked in the direction of the twin wails that were quickly growing louder, and then ended with a slurping splash. They quickly hurried toward the sound.

There, in a giant mud puddle that used to be a practice ring, laid two very muddy Dwarf princes, thick rivulets of the gloppy mess running over and around them.

"What happened to you two?" Beryl managed to gasp out between gales of laughter. If she hadn't been clinging to Balin's arm, she might have joined them. Someone had greased the path to the practice ring.

"I think, brother, it is time to up our game." Fili flicked a mudsoaked braid out of his face, in a vain attempt to somewhat clear it of the muck. His voice was oddly calm and deliberate.

"I'm with you. What's your plan?" Kili managed to crawl halfway to his feet, before losing purchase in the mud, and sinking back down almost to his chin.


	23. And the Prank War Ends

**a/n: I know I usually have this up earlier, but life decided to get interesting. However, it IS up on Thursday, hah!**

* * *

The next week passed fairly quietly, and the twins were not sure if this meant they won the prank war, or if the dwarf princes were biding their time. They went from pompous preening dandies to nervous wrecks in the space of an hour. Doing nothing may be the best prank Fili and Kili ever played on the twins. She also knew they'd never leave it at just that. She'd seen them with their heads together with Nori once too often to believe it was over. She'd bet her share of the expected treasure they were planning some grand finale for the morning they were scheduled to leave.

Even with the lull in activity, the week had been eventful. Elrond had read the runes on the blades from the Troll Hole, telling them their names and histories. Ocrist and Glamdring, Thorin and Gandalf's blades, had quite the history during the first war. They'd been lost for an age, and to suddenly be found, made Beryl wonder what was afoot for them all. She also wondered if the blade she'd given Wren had such an interesting past, but even Balin scoffed, teasing it was just a letter opener.

After that, she didn't even mention her own newly rune covered staff. She hadn't wanted her lovely staff called no better than a thumping pole used for laundry. She'd see what she could find on her own in the library, or tackle Lord Elrond when the peanut gallery wasn't about.

She'd also found her thirst for knowledge made her unpopular. Whenever she found even a scrap she'd thought might help against Smaug, she'd track down the nearest relevant personage to pepper with questions until said person was exhausted. People had started avoiding her, or, in Lord Elrond's case, distracting her. His youngest foster, Estell, was a very distracting ten year old, and Beryl was a pure sucker for youngsters. She'd found herself doing everything with the youngling from chasing fireflies to painting sunsets.

Today found Beryl meandering a breezy walkway with her nose buried in yet another tome almost as big as she was. She didn't look up until she bumped into someone.

"Beryl! It is usually considered good manners to watch where you place your feet, as it avoids such embarrassing situations as nearly knocking people over!" Wren was angrily rubbing her arm, where the corner of the book had jabbed her.

"Sorry Wren. It's just, we're leaving soon, and I don't feel any closer to a solution than when we came here. I refuse to just 'wing it' when it comes to large firebreathing lizards that can crisp me and my boys."

"That is an understandable, even admirable aim. However, I do not believe researching requires walking while reading, now does it?"

"No, I suppose not." Beryl cut her eyes slyly over to Wren, a slow grin sliding into place. "Talked to Thorin yet?"

"About?" Wren began to fidget. She knew where this conversation was going, and she really did not want to have it now.

"The fact you two are completely enamored with each other?" Beryl prodded.

"No, and you and I are not going to discuss it now, either!" Wren was furiously stabbing her finger in the nosy hobbit's direction. Beryl was probably one of the few people who could safely grin ear to ear while she did so.

"Wren, at some point, you two need to talk about it. You cannot keep leaving it, and exchanging no more than three sentences at any one time does not count as talking."

"I am not having this discussion with you now!" Rather than answer her, Wren flung open the nearest door to escape the breezeway that had suddenly become too crowded with just one hobbit on it.

Except, it wasn't a door to the interior. It was a broom closet. Wren had just trapped herself. Beryl stood there for a moment, expecting her to emerge red faced and flustered, but she didn't. Perhaps Wren was too flustered and embarrassed to face Beryl again.

Beryl slowly ambled on down the breezeway, her book reopened and the salient passage revisited. She wondered how anyone could possibly know just where Smaug was hatched. What was the basis for this claim? Who could she ask? She heard a familiar heavy tread behind her, and she turned to look.

Just as her eyes lit up and her mouth opened to ask Thorin, he yanked open the same door Wren had used, and disappeared inside it. Beryl stood there, dumbfounded for all of five seconds. Then a devious smile wormed its way into place, and decided to take up permanent residence.

She looked around. Surely there was something handy she could use to ensure the couple some quality private time? There it was. A bit of whittling left abandoned on the railing. It was the perfect shape to wedge a door shut. Beryl swiftly shoved it into place, and continued down the breezeway with a lighter step.

She wondered if Elrond or Gandalf one could tell her if there was any way to verify Smaug was hatched by the fires of Mount Doom or not. If so, what did it mean for successfully fighting him? She wondered if it were possible to reroute the River Running and drown the old fire belly. It was too bad Lord Elrond saw her coming.

She spent the rest of the afternoon making a recuperating hutch for an injured chipmunk Estell had found. The only other thing of note to happen that day was the late arrival of one King in Exile and Bree healer to dinner. Both of them looked disheveled, giddy, and eyed each other like they were the evening's repast. Beryl did her best to hide her snickering in her napkin.

It was too early in the morning to be awake, yet the moon runes Lord Elrond found on the map were clear: if they were not at the right spot come sunset of Durin's Day, they'd have to wait a whole year for their next chance.

So the entire company found themselves in the wet dew and gloom of the predawn hours. The moon had yet to set, even. Thorin meant to take no chances, they were going to be at the back door to the mountain by Durin's Day. Beryl looked over the line as they started to move out. There was Thorin, head of the line, of course. That widest shape must be Bombur. It amazed her every time how easily he rode, despite his apparent ungainly bulk. Dori there, adjusting Ori's collar again. Bifur's outline was unmistakable even in this gloom. It was almost as hard to miss as Bofur's hat. As Beryl's eyes moved down the line, it occurred to her who she didn't see.

She didn't see Fili, Kili, or Nori for that matter. She had just enough time to notice they weren't there before Nori was scurrying back, and slung himself lightly into the empty saddle just ahead of Dori. Fili and Kili were only a little slower joining them. They quickly mounted their ponies and joined the discussion like they'd always been there.

The reason for their quick appearance and hurried nonchalance became all to clear as twin wails filled the cool early morning as two white chargers in tandem harness galloped past them, pulling two mattresses still carrying the twins…...who apparently favored pajamas with a bright paisley pattern.


	24. Closet Closure Part the First

_**A/N: Y'all must have been some very, very good little Readers. Kitty has kindly written ten pages of Closeted Fun. Enjoy!**_

_**And, just so's you know, there's a part two, and if you're real good, I might post late Tuesday and Thursday to boot.**_

* * *

_**Written by **__**kkolmakov**_

Here was the Hobbit, coming up to him again. And again, with a book. And no doubt with another hundred of questions. Thorin felt immediately and acutely irritated. He inhaled, preparing to rebuke her as usual, but then he clenched his teeth and grabbed the nearest door handle, jerked it, and marched inside, smashing the door behind him.

It was a broom closet. Thorin's first thought was that, thank Mahal, no one would know of this embarrassing incident, when he realised that the small room, with some tools and buckets and crates neatly arranged by the wall, had a small window by the ceiling, which allowed him to see that the space was also occupied. By none the other than the healer he was unfortunate to refuse a spot in his company in Bree.

She was sitting on a crate, her pointy chin on her hands, elbows into her knees. Probably painfully poking them, since she seemed to be all made of angles and bony joints.

She was seemingly lost in her thoughts and jumped at least a foot up on her box when he closed the door behind him. They stared at each other, he was internally wondering whether it had been one of the Hobbit's elaborate schemings, she was looking at him wide eyed, like a terrified rabbit.

"Good day, my lord," her squeaky and inappropriately courteous greeting made him smirk.

"Good day to you too, honourable healer. What are you doing in a broom closet?" He asked conveniently forgetting he was in the very same closet.

She predictably blushed, she seemed to do a lot of it, and chewed on her bottom lip. The lips were red and the bottom one was plump and curved, and something oddly crackled in his head, like sparks from a flash fire. Curse these strange sensations he seemed to be getting on this trip! When had he started noticing women's lips in general?! Her turn up nose twitched, and instead of leaving, he tilted his head and asked slyly.

"Are you hiding from another of Mistress Baggins' talks?" He drew the last word out, and the healer twitched and looked at him even more flabberghasted. She looked rather mortified.

"Um… No..." And she was apparently a poor liar. He kept silent. He knew how intimidating such behaviour was, people tended to feel uncomfortable and elaborate, and submitting others to his will by sheer calm presence was one of his favourite ploys. The healer gave in faster than most. The cheeks started burning even more frantically, and she mumbled, "She just has these ideas… It is absolutely intolerable… I am certain she is just… Delirious..." The long fingers started fidgeting with the ends of a narrow leather belt, and Thorin couldn't stop staring at them.

"I am familiar with Mistress Baggins' ideas," Thorin's tone grew immediately irked, and he finally managed to look at the face of the healer instead of the small strong hands, which had been producing some strange tension in the back of his neck. This time the healer was a pale as the peaks of Misty Mountains.

"You are?!" She was almost shrieky, and he went back to imposing silence approach. People were indeed very prone into talking themselves verbal traps. "But… but… um… Surely, she has not shared them with you!"

"She has been doing nothing else! She is ambushing me around each corner, and then jumps at me, and asks what I am planning to do with this calamity!" Thorin's temper was rising, and he fisted his right hand.

The healer looked close to fainting. At least in Thorin's opinion. He had little experience with fainting women. Or any women for that matter. He gave her a cautious look. She was taking short breaths in, and looked like a Dwarf in a boat. Fighting nausea, that was. But then she finally managed to inhale deeply and decisively got up. There was very little room in the closet, and she ended up right in front of him. With just an inch of height difference between them, he was suddenly staring right into her strange eyes. She slowly exhaled, rounding her lips, which once again made him uncomfortably move his neck to rid himself of that strange tension, and she lifted her chin.

"I assure you, although Beryl has no business interfering into this, she means well. She might be..." The healer seemed to be looking for the right word, "Imagining some details, but she just wants everyone around her to be happy. Sometimes she just gets carried away, but she is one of those people who cannot stay away if something can be fixed. Even if they half fantasised it..." She finished awkwardly, and Thorin frowned.

He felt like rebuking this woman as well. Firstly, she had been hardly invited onto the quest, just like the Hobbit. Secondly, both of them kept on defying him and putting him into embarrassing position. The simplest example was him riding into the Elven home with a giant black eye. He even opened his mouth, but then… He saw mournfully lowered corners of her red mouth, long lashes, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and harsh words didn't come out. He made an irritated noise, and muttered.

"I just don't think she will find anything in her books. She keeps finding new stories, and then comes asking questions about this drake or another. I just need everyone to pack finally and go. If the Elf is right about the runes, we do not have much time."

An odd little noise the dealer made mostly sounded like she choked on a piece of food. He eyes grew even wider, and her jaw slacked.

"Drake? Oh… oh..." She quickly regained her composure though, and suddenly smiled to him. He had little talent in reading emotions but to him the healer looked relieved. "Oh, thank Maiar! You are talking about the dragon." He looked at her in confusion. What had she been talking about? The healer grinned wider and even giggled a bit. Thorin had to attest this giggling was worse than anything other. The vague unease he had felt before intensified tenfold.

"What were you talking about then, honourable healer?" Her very gleeful face a few inches away from him was endlessly distracting, he was only half listening now, but she just smiled more radiantly and curtseyed.

"I am sure it is safe to leave now. I am certain our darling Hobbit is gone now, and we both have matters to attend..." She made several small steps sideways and around him, squeezing herself behind him, clearly trying not to touch him, and still mumbling something about packing supplies, she pressed her back to the door and pushed.

It took him two seconds to realised that the door hadn't moved, because he was thinking about her backside pressed into that very door. Yes, it would be rather moronic to hide this fact. He indeed was.

"What?!" The healer yelped, twirled on her heels, bumped the aforementioned backside into him, didn't notice it, and pressed both her hands into the door. "What in the name of..?!" He slightly shook his head, pushing the thoughts of the backside brush to his hip out of his mind and pushed the door as well. It wouldn't go.

"Cursed Hobbit..." Thorin mumbled under his nose, and the healer whipped her head and stared at him.

"She would not! Why would she?!.. That is so childish! And not funny!" She was panting and smacking her narrow palms into the door, and he suddenly started guffawing. Cursed Hobbit indeed.

"Why would she lock you up in a closet?!" The healer hissed at him, clearly confused by his merriment. "Wait, she knows I am here too! What sort of..." Judging by sudden silence, glassy eyes, and half open mouth, the understanding was dawning at the healer from Bree.

Thorin honestly should have been enraged. Not only the behaviour was childish, just like the healer said, but also disrespectful. The Hobbit had no business meddling. But somehow he could not bring himself to be irked. The statue of the healer was a rather entertaining view as well.

"How could she?" The healer suddenly exhaled, and the lips trembled. "That is so unfair… I cannot even leave..."

Suddenly tears rolled over her eyes, and Thorin felt distressed. Just an instant ago he had thought the Hobbit's trick was funny and expected the healer to join a small laugh over it. Mahal forbid, just a few moments ago he not so secretly hoped she would enjoy this little adventure. Because, as stubborn and unresponsive as he tried to seem, he did hear everything the Hobbit had been pouring into his ears since the day they left Bree. And after a few of Beryl Baggins's observations were voiced, he had started noticing those details too. How the healer would throw looks at him, how she would always bring him coffee in the morning, and then again, the way her fingers would gently brush at his brow when she was examining the stitches… Blast it, she was now hardly containing weeping! As little as Thorin knew of females, that was not the behaviour of an enamoured woman!

"I can surely break the door..." Thorin mumbled. "It doesn't look very thick..."

"No!" The healer squeaked and sniffled loudly. "Then people will know! There will be noise, and we will fall out of the closet as if we were adolescents bussing in secluded corners!"

Thorin would like to say that was when the thought of bussing had even come to him for the first time, but that would be a blatant lie. The healer had had a strange effect on him from the start. It was not that she was distracting, like those half forgotten flames from his youngling years. She was… comforting. Kindred. And was producing the most unusual urges. Most of which included firmly grabbing her and pulling her closer. And also, had she not kissed him herself? She was obviously in shock then, it was right after a fight with wargs, and she clearly had never raised a weapon before in her life. She was shaking in his arms, and mumbling names of joints. He would still feel a small tinge of admiration for her, thinking back at it, even in the middle of a fight she utilised her medical knowledge and chose the weakest point on the beast's skull. And then she grabbed his ears, and her lips were on his, and…

He stirred out of memories of her mouth, and fingers tangling in his hair, and her further very enthusiastic actions, and watched her trying to pry the door open. He stepped closer and softly placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Let me try, Wren, I am sure..."

"Well, now you remembered!" She suddenly hissed at him, like an enraged lynx, and he met her narrowed eyes. There were still streaks of tears on her cheeks, but they were drying quickly.

"Remembered what?" He asked, realising that he had just winced from her. Given, he had never seen her like that. Eyes suddenly bright green, lips pressed in a furious line, nostrils flaring…

"My name! I am showing a bit of weakness, and suddenly you are condescendingly using it again! I do not need your pity!" She as much as spat the words at him, and turned her back to him. "'Honourable healer' is what you have chosen, and I prefer you stick with it."

Thorin immediately felt irritated. What was the woman even about?! He honestly could not remember how he habitually addressed her. She was 'Wren' in his head, but he might have been using the respectful moniker as well. She was a healer after all, and he hardly admired any other vocation as much as hers. Thorin sighed. All this matter of women's emotions was bewildering and rather annoying.

"Allow me to open the door, honourable healer," he underlined the moniker with his tone, and she made a scornful snort like noise and probably folded her arms on her chest.

"Help yourself, my lord." He was not sure he heard her right. He sighed again and firmly placed his palms on the door.


	25. Closet Closure Conclusion

**A/N: As promised, here is the second half of kkolmakov's guest chapter. Stop by and check out the really awesome hobbit fiction she has going on. Don't forget, I'll have a new Broom chappie up Thursday!**

* * *

**Written by kkolmakov**

And then a couple voices came from behind it, and he found himself with the healer as much as wrapped around him. He opened his mouth to ask what in Mahal's name she was doing, but she pressed her hand across his mouth. What was the woman thinking? They needed to call for help instead of keeping quiet. The Hobbit probably pushed a chair under the door handle or something of the sort. It would be easy to let them out, and he honestly didn't want to thank Lord Elrond for his hospitality by breaking door and furniture in his house.

And then he fully realised the position their bodies were in. She had one of her hands wrapped around his wrist, another palm was pressed to his lips, and her nose was as much as brushing to his. He saw the dilated pupils, her strange fire opal coloured eyes in front of him, and with their eyes locked they stood for a few instants.

One of them surely should have moved, they probably looked rather ridiculous at that moment. She didn't have to cover his mouth, he was hardly capable of pronouncing anything, not with the roaring of blood in his ears. And she could have released his wrist as well. Opening that door was the last of the things he would prefer to do with his hands at the moment.

The fingers twitched on his cheek, and she was slowly moving the hand away. The tips of the fingers brushed his beard, and he felt some sort of shiver run down his spine.

He had two choices now. He could let her move away. One last sane thought was thrashing in his mind that it would be an appropriate thing to do. His head felt hazed, but something about propriety, and manners, and honour was there, but he had just felt her palm on his lips, and these strange thoughts about her hands were visiting him even in his dreams, and he would not ever be able to even think back at those dreams. Beryl Baggins might have been right, whatever he thought of himself, the reflexes and instincts were none of an old man.

The second choice was easier and seemed significantly more pleasant. Wrap his arm around the healer's miniscule waist, pull her to him, and finally rid himself of these obsessive images. He was certain the reality would be so much more satisfying than his fantasies.

"Oh Maiar," the healer breathed out, "And I thought the ears were bad..."

Thorin did not get a chance to question this vague statement when the healer pressed both her palms to his cheek, quite obviously fondling his beard.

And then she blinked and her eyes lost the dazed expression. She clearly just realised what she was doing. The fingers that were previously curled into his whiskers twitched.

"Oh no..." Her voice was terrified, but the tantalising lips were rounded with a long exhale in the last sound, and that was the end of Thorin Oakenshield's restrain.

"Oh yes," he affirmed and pulled her into a kiss.

…..

If ever asked, he would not be able to tell how long it was until they finally slowed down. It started with a gasp from her, then they quite quickly understood the other one seemed just as hungry for more, and hands wandered, hair and clothes were pulled at, and then she twisted from under his greedy mouth and placed a row of small bites along his jaw. He heard his own loud growl, and he pushed her into the nearest wall. She made a happy little sound, the graceful arms went around his neck, and she attacked his lips with doubled fervour. And then he was the one pushed into the wall, and a glimpse of surprised galloped through his mind. She surely didn't look that strong, but maybe he was just very, very compliant…

She was the one to return to her senses first. The strong hands grabbed his ears, he couldn't say he minded, it reminded him of the post warg incident, but then she gently pulled his away. He snarled at her, he had not had his fill yet, but she was saying something, and he tried to concentrate.

"We should stop… We are in a closet..." He sincerely was trying to focus on anything but her swollen lips and brilliant eyes, but on the other hand, why would he?

"Perfect place for this..." He had his arms tightly wrapped around her, and suddenly she laughed loudly.

"We can be discovered any moment." He was starting to see that she was not playing coy, and he sighed. He surely wasn't done, and he also suddenly worried that it would be a single happenstance, and to test his theory he leaned in watching her face carefully from under his lids. The lashes fluttered, he felt the arms tighten around him, and she readily moved into a kiss. Perhaps, Beryl Baggins wasn't that wrong.

…...

Thorin's hands lay on the delicate jaw, his fingers under little ears, pink from the burning her had just felt under his lips, and he tenderly moved her away from his face and brushed his thumbs at the corners of her lips. She was panting and staring at him like at a diamond vein.

"Wren..." Something about saying her name scraped at his mind, something she had been distressed about before, but she seemed quite content with it now, and he enjoyed pronouncing it. He smiled to her. "I think there is a wedge under the door." She blinked several times, and something akin disappointment coloured her features. He quickly asked himself if she expected him to say something else. Apparently, since she started moving away from him, and the smile was gone.

"You should take it out," she mumbled, and the hands that were on his shoulders were sliding off as well now, and he grabbed her around her middle and jerked towards him.

Talking, the situation clearly required talking from him, but for the life of him, he knew not what he was supposed to say. Everything was clear to him. He loved her, she seemed equally enthused just a few moments ago. They had a quest before them, but if it were to end safely for both of them, she would be his, and he would be hers, and he surely didn't see anything complicated about it. But they clearly spoke different languages, and she had some strange ideas of her own, and he felt greedy to know what was going on in her head and irritated by her mind at the same time. He might not have been perceptive enough to even start understanding her, but he could see there was a lot to understand.

"Wren, we should talk..." He started, and honestly speaking, he had nothing to add to this, but thankfully that was enough. She was indeed a chatty one.

"We should!" She confirmed with a nod, but then the nose started twitching again. "But I do not want to… And I'm fearful… And kissing is so much easier..." She mumbled and suddenly rushed into his embrace and pressed her temple to his. "I don't want to know… And I do… But it is easier now until we discuss everything, and there are all those reasons why I am not good enough… And how you think it was a mistake... And Beryl was saying all those preposterous things… And the beard..." She seemingly got tangled into her own wordiness and quieted down, pressing into him. Her body was tense like a bow string, and he suddenly felt merry and at ease.

He stroked the back of her head in a comforting gesture. Silly woman, what had she been imagining in that giant head of hers? He felt thick silky curls under his palm, and then he slightly moved away and pressed his lips to her temple. She happily squinted like a cat.

"I think out of us all here Beryl Baggins might be the smartest," he jested and placed another kiss, this time closer to her ear.

"I was hiding here from her pestering me about you." The healer's voice was small and distressed, but she was not moving away, which seemed very promising to him. "I have told her of the warg fight… And apparently I have disclosed something when signing the contract, after ale..." That was interesting. Had she felt something for him then already? Thorin carefully moved her away from him and peered into her face. She had already realised she had spoken too much, and her eyes were shifting guiltily. "Maiar, help me, you affect me worse than brew..." She sounded sincerely upset, and he cupped her face.

"I am no less affected, Wren," he spoke tenderly.

"You are a Dwarf! Your race can outdrink anybody!" She gave him a disbelieving look, and he guffawed.

"I am in love, you nonsensical woman." She gaped at him, and he just let her gather her thoughts. After all, direct path was the shortest. Two blinks and a strange squeak somewhere in her throat later, she smiled to him widely and grabbed his ears. Apparently, that was now a common practice. He didn't mind at all.

"And I am with you," she announced gleefully, and he decided that was very much enough talking.

…..

They were released out of their prison half an hour later by a courtier who opened a door upon hearing yet another broom being toppled over to the floor. They fell out into the passage, in a tanglement of limbs, since they had not even heard the door being open, and he had been leaning on it, while the healer was nibbling on his ear, and his hands were splayed on her perky backside. The Elf gaped at them, with his mouth half open ungracefully, and then with a hurried bow he disappeared in a side passage.

"Hm, I am not even embarrassed," his healer made an observation, and he laughed and pulled her to him. "I am too happy for it." She added, smiling to him blissfully. He pecked her lips and pressed his forehead to hers. So, he had been right, it was that simple.

"One thing though," she said after tearing her lips from his. He saw her frown and cocked a brow. "The Hobbit has to pay." There was some dangerous light in the healer's eyes, and Thorin felt even more enamoured. What a woman! Their eyes met, and he smirked to her.

"Fili?" He asked, giving her a meaningful look.

"Oh yeah. And no cozy closets for them. A barrel perhaps?"


	26. Hills and Spills

**A/N: The lovely kkolmakov helped with this chapter. She gave me permission to hang the evil cliffie at her doorstep, so I shall. It's all her fault, and in no way due to me being unable to well, you'll see.**

* * *

It felt odd riding her own pony again. She missed Fili's warmth at her back. She'd gotten entirely too used to being able to lean on that stolid strength anytime she felt like it. She didn't particularly care for what that thought implied about her relationship with him. That was another sticky point. Just when she'd started getting comfortable around him, she had to go and fall in love with him. Now, she felt unsure how to act around him.

She could handle anybody's emotional aggro but her own. It was one reason she dove headfirst into managing Hobbiton like she had. The more time she spent handling everyone else's business, the less time she had worrying about her own. It was a situation to everyone's benefit. Now she had plenty of time to wonder about the question of Fili, and there was plenty to wonder about.

Her own newly found reticence in his presence aside, they'd spent less time together in Rivendell than she'd thought they'd have. Part of it, she was sure, was due to her frenetic research and tongue tying realization, and part she could put down to his preoccupation with the prank war. Still, there were several evenings she found herself wondering why they weren't spent in each other's company. It was a trend that was continuing back on the road again. There was precious little to occupy themselves after camp was done and the ponies tended. She often found herself on the opposite side of camp from him, either drawn into conversation with Balin and Dwalin, or Dori asking her this or that about Hobbits and etiquette.

In fact, there was almost a pattern to it. If Dori were busy, Gloin would find a reason to sit next to her and talk about her family history, or give her khuzdul lessons. If Gloin had guard duty, then Oin wanted to talk about different herbs Hobbits commonly used for colds and tending themselves. If Oin weren't available, then Dwalin wanted to practice her quarterstaffing skills. This usually ended with her begging Oin for bruise salves.

One explanation for the new improved treatment was that she was no longer spending as much time with Wren. Wren had quickly made it clear Thorin was not a topic for discussion, so there went at least half the good conversations they might have had. Wren was also spending more time amongst the Dwarves. Now that she wasn't mopey or sad, she had charmed the whole Company. Balin and Dwalin had about decided Wren could Do No Wrong. It was almost comical. Thankfully, they only got a little of Wren's attention.

No, most evenings, Wren and Thorin were wrapped up in their own little world together. They'd whisper and giggle together like a pair of lovestruck teenagers. The Company politely left them to it. Beryl wondered if some of it had to do with seeing the usually stern and mighty Thorin so relaxed and near giddy. A smiling and laughing Thorin was disconcerting. Beryl didn't mind too much, though. She felt somewhat smug about it all. She had a hand in their happiness. If only she could handle her own business as handily...okay enough thinking.

They were slowly making their way towards the Misty Mountains. She'd found them imposing when they first arrived on the horizon. Now, a week out amongst the foothills, the Misty Mountains seemed no closer. She wondered if there were magic involved, or if they simply weren't moving fast enough. Bombur was riding next to her so she decided to ask him.

"Are we moving that slow, or are those Mountains magicked?" Bombur looked at her somewhat askance, before puzzling her question out.

"No lassie, they're just that far and that huge. We've a ways to go yet before they'll fill the sky, and then it'll seem another long time before we actually start going up, and that will again seem to take too long. The Misty Mountains are named so because they are so very high. They stop the rains from passing. That's why these foothills are so dry, and why we are carrying so much water with us."

Beryl studied the distant mountains, wondering at the path they would have to travel to cross the massive barrier. How high up was the pass? How narrow would it be? What about the ponies? The ponies weren't a minor consideration, not in Beryl's mind. She'd spent time and effort on them, and knew their personalities as well as her own. Turning them loose to make their way back to Rivendell didn't sit well with her, not with as dry as these foothills were. She feared they'd never make it. They didn't know the land and weren't used to dry conditions.

She was still pondering the pony question that night when she saw Bifur and Fili approaching her. Fili looked to be chewing on a secret, which set off all kinds of alarms in Beryl's head. She braced herself.

"Good evening, what are you fine fellows up to?" Beryl waved at the sacks next to her. Some of the sturdier supply bags doubled as seating around the campfire. Bifur kept his eyes firmly fixed on Beryl's face, making her slightly more nervous as he seated himself to her left. Bifur had quite the stare when he wanted.

"Fili, what is this about?" Fili had stretched out on the sack to her right, smiling indulgently as if waiting for the punchline to a joke.

"Bifur has a question he'd like to ask, and wanted me to translate, since he knows your Khuzdul isn't quite there yet." He chuckled as Beryl groaned.

"At the rate it's going, I begin to wonder if it ever will. I might finally be able to ask for the inn by the time I'm ninety." Beryl shook her head. "So, what's this question, then?" It seemed to be all the incentive Bifur needed to break into a long and rambling speech in rapid Khuzdul. Beryl watched him the entire spiel, then turned politely to Fili for the translation.

"Well, short version: 'Will you marry me?'" Beryl felt her heart stop. She felt the last shuddering thump, and it seemed to wait for her to catch her breath before coming back to life with a vengeance. Her thoughts went careening twenty directions at once.

Fili just asked her to marry...no _Bifur_ had just asked her, using Fili to do it. That was a sheer bit of devilry there. Why would Bifur offer? Why would he ask Fili to translate? How should she answer?

That was the real kicker: how to answer? Beryl sucked in a deep calming breath, and sternly told her tumbleweed thoughts to gather themselves. Deal with gently telling Bifur no, then that blonde scamp playing havoc with her feelings.

"Bifur, I don't know how marriage and the feelings dealing with marriage are viewed by Dwarves, but for me, nothing less than romantic love will ever induce me to consider marriage. I care for you. You are a very dear friend to me, but I am not in love with you. I cannot accept, though I am deeply flattered." Beryl hoped it was gentle enough. Her voice had been soft and even, and she even held his hand as she answered him, her eyes never leaving his face.

Bifur sat there a moment. While he could only speak Khuzdul, it didn't seem like he had any trouble understanding common. He nodded once before patting her hand and leaving. She was worried, but going after him would send all the wrong signals. Since he was gone, now she could vent her full frustration on the Dwarf most responsible for it.

'How could you!" Beryl shoved, hard, sending Fili head over heels off the his sack. "Is everything just a game to you? Just another prank to play? You don't speak to me for weeks, and the first words out of your bloomin' mouth are another Dwarf's proposal! How could you!" Before he could summon enough wits to reply, Beryl made her escape. There was no garden here, but the ponies gentle company and the soothing smell of hay were the next best thing. Daffodil would even let her sit between her front legs, and gently wuffle her hair. Strangely enough, it often helped her put her thoughts in order. She needed all the help she could get putting her thoughts in order.

**A/N: posting two chapters tonight, just so's y'know.**

**StormWing11: We are sorry we got you in trouble, but not sorry you found such enjoyment in our works. **

**Dearreader: Yay! I'm so glad you've enjoyed the ride so far, Hope you're sticking around, and we continue to delight you!**


	27. Confidences and Comeuppances

**A/N: Ladies and Gents. I have a confession to make. kkolmakov 's first name is Katya, which, for whatever reason, I often think of as 'Kitty'...to the point I may have used it in my notes and replies. It is not her name, and isn't very respectful of me to use it without first having cleared it with her. Please call her Katya, as that is her name and what she prefers to be called. My apologies for causing confusion and hurt feelings.**

**pssst! did you read the chapter before this one? this is a second helping of a double upload. Enjoy!**

* * *

Of course, the first person to find her would be Wren, she of the happy relationship. The healer came up to her and quietly sat near. After a few seconds of silence, she gently bumped Beryl with her shoulder.

"I am sure when you are ready to hear it Fili has an apology for you." Wren's voice was soft and warm. "Especially after the good earful he has just received from Thorin in the nearest shrubbery."

Beryl rubbed her nose against her arms folded across the top of her knees. Listening and thinking. Out of nowhere, she offered. "Do you know, I can braid your hair as finely as Dori could, but can't braid my own to save my life? Tonight's like that. I can manage anybody's business but my own, and I've no idea how to fix it. Just getting an apology from him, I'd probably make a proper muddle of it." Wren chuckled softly and rubbed Beryl's upper arm with her small soft hand.

"Not to burst your bubble, Beryl, you are not that good at braiding other people's hair either, but it's not the quality of the braid that matters. It's your desire to help. You are a good person, and hate seeing others in pain. That's why tonight was so hard for you. Because you felt sorry for Bifur, and Fili didn't do anything to make it easier for him. Which was cruel and disrespectful. Which is why if you listen carefully, you can still hear the King in the Exile roaring in the bushes like a wounded ram."

"It's more than that, but I don't know how to put it all in words." Wren gave her a slightly mischievous look.

"May it be that there was a second there where you thought that Fili wasn't translating? That one tiny moment when those words fell off his lips, and…" Wren splayed fingers in the air and made a small unimpressive noise mimicking fireworks. All Beryl could do was duck her head in her arms and whimper. Wren gently patted her back.

"Right words, right mouth, wrong reason. For once, I never wanted to say yes so badly." Wren hummed agreeing.

"I have been wondering for a while how you are holding on with all these proposals raining on you. You strike me as the type to wait for something more than a marriage of convenience." Wren suddenly emitted a small uncomfortable noise and squirmed on the hillock she was sitting on. "So, with all Dwarves proposing one after another I was just wondering which one you'd choose, Fili… or Thorin." Beryl peeked over her arms to see Wren looking rather uneasy and her turn-up nose twitch frantically.

"Are you kidding? Thorin makes me more nervous than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Too intimidating by half, and he's nuts about you." Beryl sighed heavily. "No, the proposals I could handle. It hurt, but it was the pain of just telling a friend no, not… not what happened with Fili's little escapade just now." Beryl unwound enough to stroke one of the sturdy pony legs coddling her. "I figured out how I felt about Fili just before Rivendell. Then I got tongue tied around him. Conversations that used to be so easy just weren't anymore. Then he disappeared and wouldn't talk at all, and the first conversation we have in weeks, it's to deliver another Dwarf's proposal. Precisely how should I feel about that?" Beryl let her head gently thump against the pony's leg.

"Precisely the way you felt before you knocked him off a saddle bag. Frustrated and offended. And with every right for it." Wren gave her a small melancholic smile. "As I see it, Beryl, perhaps you are not the only one tongue tied and confused here. It is indeed not very Fili like to behave this way. It was a wee bit too cruel for him. He is kind and considerate, and he surely could have done it differently. But on the other hand..." Wren suddenly shot an impish glance at Beryl. "I have a small story to tell you. Remember that day when you and Estell bumped into me in the garden in Rivendell, and you asked whether something was wrong, because my eyes were red, and then we both lied to Estell telling him I was having a reaction to those flowers?"

"Yeah. I wondered about it, but figured you'd tell me when you were ready." Beryl patted the pony muzzle whuffling in her hair. "What had happened?"

"Well," Wren shook her head good-naturedly, "I clearly do not have to explain to you that I was hiding in those bushes to bawl my eyes over a certain Dwarf. And what happened was he called me 'honourable healer' in a passage and walked by." Wren emitted a short silver laughter. "And it hurt so much! And you know why? Because then, at the very beginning, in Bree… He had been the first man in my life I allowed to call me by my name. And he just threw it aside like an empty water skin and stomped over my little silly heart." Wren laughed again.

"I don't think your heart silly or little. Yet you're laughing now, so, what happened?" Beryl twirled both hands at Wren in a 'please continue' pattern. Wren widened her eyes at the Hobbit dramatically.

"What happened is that he has no idea he is doing it. He switches between appellations, sometimes in the same conversation. And you would think "I am ticklish, honourable healer" would sound odd even to his ears, but he seems quite content with it." Wren snorted. "Every time I'd heard this moniker, I thought he mocked and humiliated me, and now I sort of like it..."

"Hold on, I'm still dealing with the idea of a ticklish Thorin." Wren giggled.

"He is. Like a child. One poke of a finger under his ribs, and he starts making these funny snorting noises..." Wren suddenly blushed, "Oh Maiar, we probably should not be discussing it. But my point is, Beryl," Wren's face grew serious, "They are men and Dwarves, and sometimes… Well, we just do not understand them. And also, the fact that Fili's behaviour was so out of the ordinary only confirms that something isn't right."

"Right now, I'm so mad and so hurt, I even wonder why i fell for him in the first place." The grumble came from under a mop of brown curls deeply tucked back in the arms. Wren sighed.

"I'm afraid even if you two find your happiness together, you will find yourself in this position many times again. Just as every woman does. They are rather infuriating, from time to time..." Wren pressed her temple to Beryl's shoulder. "It doesn't mean they are not worth it."

"Since when did you get so relationship wise? Wasn't I helping you with heart troubles just a few short weeks ago?" Beryl smiled into Wren's hair. "Thank you, for everything."

"I am very wise when it comes to hearts, Beryl Baggins," Wren pronounced in a funny theatrical haughty tone, "I am a surgeon after all." Wren giggled, and Beryl joined her. "It is the heads I am having troubles with. Mine wasn't letting me see what the heart had guessed a while ago. Yours… Well, here you have to decide for yourself. And you are always welcome."

"Well, soonest begun is soonest done. Think Thorin's through with him by now?"

"Well, I do not hear any roaring and raging, so it should be safe to come out. What are you intending to do?"

"I honestly won't know till I hear what he has to say for himself." Beryl began the careful work of unfolding herself from the nest between Daffodil' feet.

"Then it is time to go back and give him a chance to say something. And some of us will have to go mollify a huffing monarch." Judging by Wren's shiny eyes the prospective wasn't frightening her.

"I still don't know how you manage that. Sure you aren't magic?" Beryl was feeling better. She even dared tease a little as she let the healer pull her upright.

"I am not sure about magic," Wren twirled, patting twigs and leaves off her skirts at her backside, and straightened her little travel doublet. "But I honestly do not see anything intimidating in our dear monarch. He is a bit grumpy, of course, but quite a poppet." Wren giggled and then winked at Beryl.

"Now there's two words I never imagined in the same sentence, 'Thorin' and 'Poppet'. I dare you to call him such, ever." As soon as the words left Beryl's mouth, she saw the eyes of the healer glimmer with some new confident light.

"Well, not in front of his men of course, but who says I don't do it? What is whispered in the bushes stays in the bushes." The healer went so far as to stick her tongue out at the Hobbit and giggle triumphantly.

Beryl shook her head at the healer, clamping her jaw tight to keep it from hitting the floor. "Okay, stop right there. I like my brains inside my skull, not leaking out my ears." They continued back to camp amicably leaning and giggling on each other.

A very hangdog Fili was waiting at the edge of the camp, as if looking for them to return. Wren breezed by him, head erect, spine stiff, disdain and dismissal in her every line. If possible, Fili's head and shoulders slumped even further at her silent rebuke. Beryl watched as Wren linked arms with Thorin, and practically pulled him out the other side of camp, Beryl noticed they were headed well away from her and Fili. Balin and Dwalin were busying themselves nearby. Not so close they could hear what was said, but close enough to come running if needed.


	28. Misty Mountain Maelstrom

**A/N: Won't kid you, this was a tough chapter to write. Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

"Alright, let's hear it." Beryl stood there, toe tapping and arms folded protectively across her middle. Her jaw felt uncommonly tense after snapping the words off. Fili's chest visibly rose as he took in a deep breath to answer her, as if bracing himself for whatever she said in reply.

"I'm sorry. I'm not even sure now why it made sense at the time. He would have asked someone one else, and for whatever reason, I just…" He shrugged helplessly. "I didn't like the thought of another saying those words to you."

"So delivering his words yourself seemed the lesser evil?" Fili flinched slightly at her scalding censure. He was miserable, even as mad and hurt as Beryl was, it was woefully obvious. It didn't mean she was going to forgive him easily. It hurt, she hurt, and she was going to make it plainer than the dimples on his face her feelings weren't some playtoy he could take lightly.

"I didn't think it through. I admit it, and I'm sorry. I knew it the moment the words left my mouth and saw the look on your face. If I could take the careless things back, I would." His voice was thick and rough with emotion. Sad blue eyes regarded her earnestly, seeming to beg her to believe him and forgive him.

"Well, as it stands, you can't. We'll both have to live with it, won't we?" Beryl swept past him, and made a beeline for her bedroll. She knew it would be a long while before she actually slept, giving her plenty of time to resent this latest fiasco. It seemed the faint hope of returning to their easy camaraderie had been lost in one careless stunt.

Wren was supportive, and Beryl was grateful for it. The two would sit together in the after supper lull, talking about everything and nothing. Wren would study her with those observant miss nothing eyes. The gentle questions were never too prying, but even in her funk, Beryl could tell the healer was worried, and looking for some way to bring the bossy Beryl back. It was throwing everyone off. Busy body Beryl had, for all intents and purposes, closed up shop and vacated the building. She'd seen more than one concerned conversation between Thorin and Wren with thoughtful glances tossed her and Fili's way. He was another concern. Kili was ready to pull his own hair out in frustration. With the two of them acting withdrawn and sulky, the whole Company was off kilter.

The Misty Mountains took their time about it, but they finally filled the sky with their cloud shrouded majesty. The Dwarves did their best to draw Beryl back out with their usual cycle of preoccupations, and she was never more grateful for it. Her Khuzdul grew, if slowly, and even Dwalin was pleased with her self defense progress. Pent up anger apparently had its uses. In fact, she positively beamed the night Dwalin had to ask for bruise liniment after one of their sparring sessions.

Beryl finally learned what had been planned for the ponies when they came upon a lovely campsite already waiting for them at the start of the narrow trail up the mountain. Apparently, word had been sent ahead of them. Beryl wondered how, until she saw a familiar pair of dark heads and fast horses. She groaned. The last thing this farce needed was a last hurrah of the all consuming Prank War.

"Well met, Company of Thorin Oakenshield. You moved faster across the foothills than we'd anticipated. We did not expect you for another two days." Elladan's greeting held approval and welcome. Already Beryl could smell the welcoming aroma of a good hearty stew over a fragrant campfire.

"We had little reason to dally, and incentive enough to travel swiftly. Durin's Day will not wait on our pleasure." Thorin dismounted and immediately set to tending his pony at the picket line the Elven twins and their small party had waiting. Elladan bowed his head at the King's reply.

"Then this news should cheer you. We procured pack animals for you suitable to the narrow passages of the mountain. At Thorin's quizzical raised brow. Elladan gestured to the small, large eared and bright eyed donkeys behind him. The small mountain beasts of burden regarded him with the same scepticism, making Beryl hide a smile behind her saddlebags as she took them down.

"These small things can bear our packs and navigate the pass safely?" Thorin ran assessing hands over the little beast. The donkey, for his part, seemed to lean into the Dwarf's hands as if they were the sweetest of caresses.

"Merchants traveling the pass before the dangers grew swore by the sturdy animals. Our Lord Father had us seek them out for you."

"Then we will accept their aid with thanks." Thorin inclined his head graciously, and Elladan returned the gesture. Thankfully, it seemed the twins were much steadier in the field, and reserved their hijinks for the safety of Imladris.

Morning saw the swift packing and harnessing of the small pack animals, while the ponies looked on from the picket line with interest. Beryl was sad to say goodbye to them.

"Worry not, they'll be waiting in Rivendell fat and hale for you when you return this way again." Elrohir rubbed Daisy's neck as he reassured the Hobbit.

"Won't keep me from missing their company. These sweet darlings have helped in more than a few ways." Beryl gave Daisy one last apple, and rubbed her velvety nose with affection, and received a soft whicker in return.

"Would that help include why there were injured ponies when you came to us?"

"Yep, and somehow, a stampede of donkeys just don't strike me as having the same stomping power as a pony stampede." Beyl gave Daisy one last fond pat goodbye, and the pony nudged her hand for just one more.

"They are bright and nimble. You would not have the Dwarves discount your usefulness. Don't do them the same disservice." Beryl really disliked when the Elves got all preachy and all knowy. It was hard to tell when they had real prophecy upon them, and when they were pulling a flim flam. With the twins track record, she tended to lean more towards flim flam. Even so, she had to agree there was probably merit to his words.

"I promise to keep that in mind." It was finally time, and the Company plus pack laden donkeys started their ascent up the Misty Mountains' narrow track.

The mountains, Beryl decided, were definitely out to get them. The trails were narrow, pebble strewn, and treacherous. More than once a foot too close to the edge caused heart stopping crumbling. Then there were the random rock falls from above. Very little of this seemed to faze the healer. Beryl still hadn't decided if she were part Fallohide Hobbit, or blooming roe deer. The way she flitted lightly over the tricky footing and seemed to always be where the rockfalls weren't defied logic. Despite the mountains' best efforts, the Company made good time. Then the rains and winds started.

More than once, Beryl watched as Thorin held the little healer close to keep the winds and rains from washing her off the side of the mountain. They were determined to muddle through, right up until the heavy booming laughter joined the thunder. There, in the lightning flashes, were giants throwing boulders to each other and laughing like children.

"Fili! Kili!" Thorin roared over the maelstrom, impressing Beryl no little bit. "Find us shelter before one of these giants kick us sky high for a football!" Into the dark Fili and Kili went before them, passing with care all the Company in line ahead of them, Fili giving Beryl a searching look and a small nod as he passed her. She couldn't stand it, and gave his arm a small reassuring squeeze before he passed her by completely.

In the dark, with naught but the random flashes of lightning and the roaring laughter of the stone giants to mark time, there was no real way to keep time till Fili and Kili came back, claiming to have found the perfect cave to camp in for the duration.

"A cave, not but a few yards up the path, and it's big enough even for the donkeys to get in out of the storm." Kili was grinning ear to ear over their lucky find.

"Did you check it thoroughly? It's very unlikely to find an unoccupied cave in the mountains."

"We checked Uncle, all the way to the back and around. Now hurry!" If she hadn't been in a hurry herself to get out of the rain, watching the nephews chivy their uncle along would have caused a first rate giggle fest. As it was, she was just too happy to get in out of the rain.

Soon enough, they were all snugly stashed in the cave that proved to have no other occupants than themselves. She was snug in her bedroll, and the donkeys were all blissful in their corner after a good rubdown and nosebags. She wondered, then, why she was dreaming of falling down a great huge crack opening in the back of the cave. She woke screaming to being swallowed whole by the mountain itself.


	29. Down, Down to Goblin Town

**A/N: This chapter waited until the very last minute to let itself get written. Hope it's an enjoyable read anyways! Please tell me what you think about Beryl's handling of, well, everything!**

* * *

For the longest time, Beryl couldn't make heads or tails out of what was going on. They were tumbled helter skelter down a chute, between the braying donkeys, roaring Dwarves, and more bumps and bruises than one Hobbit ought to have to count, she finally just laid panting a long while once they stopped in a pile. Unfortunately, they weren't going to be given that sort of reprieve. Before the world could stop spinning crazily before their eyes, they were grabbed and hauled down a rough ramp and thrown before a huge Goblin squatting on a pile of rubble that might be mistaken for a crude throne if you squinted very hard after a tun of good dwarven ale.

"Who are these miserable persons?" Beryl's ears wanted to crawl inside her bun and pull it in after them once that whiny, scratchy voice assaulted them. She might have heard something more unpleasant at one time or another, but it wasn't occurring to her right now while that grating sound lashed her poor eardrums. Even so, she was disoriented and angered enough she spoke before she thought, pushing herself up using her quarterstaff.

It was lucky they were thrown down atop their own obviously pilfered belongings. It vaguely registered that her staff's metalwork was glowing, proving it was proper First Era crafting. She pushed through the battered Dwarves to face down the Great Goblin.

"Well, we wouldn't be quite so miserable, if you were a better host! I mean really! No announcement, no warning, just dumped down a chute and pulled willy nilly till I know neither up nor down. Disgraceful!" Beryl pulled herself up to her full, unimpressive height, though the Goblins nearest her pulled back as if it were, and she shook her finger at the squatting toad of a Goblin king and delivered her most scathing insult. "Sackville Bagginses know more about hospitality than this!"

"What? You dare? What is this vermin before me?" Spittle flew as the Goblin's rage rendered him nearly incoherent. Dragons weren't the only thing in Beryl's studies amongst the many books of Rivendell. Goblins and Dwarves mixed like Aunt Bergamot's best brew and lit tinder. Explosively. The more attention she kept on her, the less they noticed just who they pulled into their mountain.

"I'm a Hobbit. Beryl Baggins of Bag End, but I'm most certainly not at your service. Hobbits have probably forgotten more about hospitality than you ever imagined possible. I mean really, was the pinching, pulling, and dragging necessary? Can you even speak without spittle flying?" That was probably the one thing too many. The Great Goblin roared, and backhanded Beryl with his clubbed scepter. She was able to duck most of the force, but it still clipped her hard enough she tumbled off the edge of the platform. The last clear sight she had was of Fili being dragged back from the edge after her.

Beryl slowly came awake, the aches and pains finally forcing her out of blessed oblivion. The mountain, apparently, is riddled with chutes. It was the only explanation Beryl had for her continued existence. Hobbits are sturdy folk, and Beryl had done her fair share of farm chores, but there's only so much sturdy can do against a drop from a great height. The pangs up and down her body made it clear it had come in rough contact with more than a few surfaces. She slowly made it to a sitting position, feeling the slow whirl that meant she'd given her head a good knock into the bargain. A faint blue glow a few yards from her let her know where her staff fell. As she crawled toward it, something small bumped her hand. It didn't feel like a rock or pebble, so Beryl tucked it into a pocket for later inspection.

She heard an odd sound ahead of her, and ducked into a shady crevice. She was thankful it was deep and tall enough to hide her staff from the whatever it was. A low muttering resolved itself into a voice that sounded suspiciously like a cross between a bullfrog and a snake.

"But no my precious. It wants to fights us and bites us, But we showed it didn't we? Little squeaker wasn't ready for how we squeezes it, no. Now we can eats and eats for a long long time!" the hissy croaky voice drew out the 'o' in the second long, almost warbling it into a song. Beryl's ears went on immediate protest, claiming that was too many distasteful voices in the space of a day, and threatened to go on strike.

She used the internal argument to pretend she didn't hear the sound of a body being dragged across the rough stones of the cave floor. What did catch her ear was the sound of splashing and paddling. Water! If there were a current, there was a chance it could show her how to get out, but how to get past the Hissycroaker?

Beryl waited until it sounded like the Hissycroaker had left the area, then tried to cautiously move out of her cubby.

"What is it, my precious? Is it another squeaker, come to be our dinner? Gollum! Gollum!" The horrid swallowing sound made the bile rise in the back of Beryl's throat.

Beryl stopped where she was, not even daring to breathe. She could see the thing's giant eyes glinting in the faint light her staff provided. Quickly, she whipped it around in front of her protectively. "Come no closer, unless you like getting thumped."

"What is it, my precious! I don't knows! It's not a squeaker, and it has a bright stick, a light stick. Oh the light burns us!" The thing scrabbled low behind a large stone, peeping carefully between fingers that shaded the oversized eyes from the enchanted lightsource. In the dim light, she saw a small, wiry frame of pale skin, which did nothing to alleviate the mental image of a frog crossed with a snake. Hissycroaker he would remain, 'till she knew any different.

"What I am, is lost. Will you show me out?" Beryl could tell she'd never find her way out on her own, and this thing was at least intelligent enough to gabble, though it worried her with this talk of squeakers and dinners. She didn't trust it as far as she could throw it. Which wasn't at all since she'd refuse to touch the scabby thing.

"Why should I, precious? Why help the bright stick?"

"Well, for one, I go, the light stick goes. So, if you don't like the light, I'll take it with me, and you can have your dark cave back."

"How comes it don't know the way out? Eh? It could be a nasty trickses on Gollum. Show his secrets, let the squeakers and the grunters has him." Gollum sneered at her over his protective rock, before ducking back behind its protective shade.

"Do I look like I hang out with squeakers or grunters? I'm down here because they knocked me down here, trying to kill me. Why on earth would I show them any of your secrets? They'd finish what they started if I dared try! " There was something very familiar in the way Gollum responded to her scolding. It made her study him closer, and what she saw made her heart bleed. Gollum was responding to her the way younglings all around the Shire would when she once again found where their latest game plowed through her garden. The shuffled feet, ducked head, and arms behind the back were all too familiar. What could possibly have turned a Hobbit into...into this? Beryl gritted her teeth, and firmed her hold on her staff as she squared her feet into a defensive stance. Whatever he had been, he was a demonstrated killer now, and if she weren't careful, she could easily be next on his menu.

"Gollum won't! He won't! My precious he won't lets it have his secretses."

"Is that a fact, then? I suppose I'll just have to convince you." A slow evil grin sprawled merrily across Beryl's face. Given the eerie glow from her quarterstaff, it gave even Gollum pause, as he crouched behind his rock

"and how is that nasty little light sticker going to makes us, my precious?"

"I'm going to sing to you, Gollum. Are you ready?"


	30. Yo Ho, My Lads Ho Ho, My Lads

**A/N: Hey, it's still Monday! and I'm giving you another lovely extra long guest chapter from the incomparable kkolmakov...that's worth waiting a few extra hours for, right? Enjoy!**

* * *

Written by kkolmakov

The cave was dry, but Thorin prohibited them from starting fire, and Wren sat sadly on her bedroll, listening to her teeth chattering. There was no way she could fall asleep, with the disgusting feeling of a wet tunic stuck to her back, drops sadly rolling from the end of her braid. She sniffled and looked down on the cave floor, almost expecting a small pond to form under her. Her hair was so long and there was so much of it so no squeezing and rolling could get the water out of it.

"Cold, my heart?" The King's quiet voice came from above, and she jerked her face up. There was no point in denying it, and she nodded.

"I have had half a thought to snuggle with Beryl, but she seems in such low moods recently. She might want to be alone..." Wren sniffled again, and then a sneeze escaped her. She sighed, and suddenly the King sat on her bedroll again. Wren's jaw slacked, and her eyes darted towards other Dwarves. As welcome as his warm side near her was, that was certainly quite improper. No one seemed to notice, or more likely everyone was pretty good at pretending they didn't.

Another sneeze made her jump up on her roll, and she fished a handkerchief from out of her sleeve and wiped her nose.

"I am alright, I just dislike cold, especially when it's wet." Wren stuffed the handkerchief back, and then the King deftly picked up her hand. She decided she would point at the inappropriateness of his behaviour if he made one more bold step. So far, she cowardly accepted the bliss of her hands being rubbed between his scorching palms.

In a minute, Wren asked herself whether the King warming her somewhat blue from cold fingers with his breath was that one bold step she had been intending to become the last drop, and somehow she found it wasn't. The little kisses falling on the tips of her digits, perhaps, were. And yet…

"Thorin..." That was definitely a squeak, and the King looked at her not taking his lips off her fingers. Was she supposed to stop him? Probably. Was she going to? Um… no. "What did you say to Fili?" Wren asked, just to ask something. The whiskers of his moustache brushing at the pulps of her fingers were creating some strange buzzing at the base of her skull.

"That he was being an idiot." The King deadpanned, clearly distracted. Wren lightly wiggled her fingers and saw one corner of his lips curl up. They spend several moments playing this silly game, he'd try to kiss, she'd wiggle finger as if trying to avoid a buss. Let's be honest here, she was just enjoying the coarse whiskers in the beard and moustache.

"And?.." She encouraged the King to speak, and suddenly he caught the index finger between his lips. That was the limit, Wren understood. Either she took her fingers away from him now, or the tingling sensation flooding her body would take control over her mind and she'd jump at the King, toppling him on the ground, and…

Wren pulled her hands away, but grabbed his to show she didn't object to his caresses.

"What did you tell Fili? Beryl is truly upset, and it is so distressing to see her like that… As if we have a completely different Hobbit in our company..." Wren rubbed the inner side of Thorin's wrist with her thumb. The spot was surprisingly soft, although overall she had to concede, Dwarves were all rough and hairy. The King was looking at the movement of her thumb, as if mesmerized. The gesture was indeed a bit odd, but it felt so nice that Wren indulged.

"I told him..." The King sounded raspy, and cleared his throat. "I told him that Durin's folk do not treat women that way. I didn't expect him to be so childish." Thorin shook his head, and Wren patted the back of his hand soothingly. "Their pranking was foolish, but at least they harmed no one. And Beryl of all people..."

"Any woman would hate a fake proposal," Wren said and placed her head on his shoulder. "He perhaps forgot that her feelings can be hurt as well. She is a tough lass."

"She is," the King chuckled.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Wren was starting to feel sleepy. The King's body was radiating heat, and she was lulled by the comfort and the new feeling of safety. She had never in her life felt as secure as being near him.

And then they were falling.

* * *

Falling hurt. Mostly because it consisted of tumbling and bumping, and Wren consisted of bones and angles. At some point her stomach met with Bofur's knee, and she gasped. She was quickly avenged by her elbow's encounter with Bofur's eye. At some point she felt a pair of strong hands grab her, she immediately recognised the King's grasp, and the amount of blows decreased. Apparently, 'Thorin padding' was a rather efficient kind.

Even with most of blows falling on the King, who had protectively wrapped himself around her, she hissed when they finally landed in a messy pile of limbs. Wren felt very sorry for Gloin's side, she did have very pointy knees, and then they all groaned and rose, swaying. Only to be herded and pushed and poked by none others but the ugliest Goblins she had ever seen in her life. Well, these were the first Goblins she had ever seen, but, Maiar help her, the muzzles would visit her in her nightmares from now on!

The Goblin King, and it was quite clear who was in charge here, was surely to win the contest for the ugliest muzzle. He was sitting on a pile of something that Wren, being quite fussy when it came to cleanness, refused to identify.

Thorin stepped ahead and in front of her, shielding her, but consequently not letting her see what was happening, and then she heard the voice of the Chief Goblin, so unpleasant that she felt like covering her ears.

"Who are these miserable persons?" It sounded nasal and scratchy, and very, very angry.

There was some movement to Wren's right, and then the healer heard Beryl Baggin's voice, full of righteous indignation.

"Well, we wouldn't be quite so miserable, if you were a better host! I mean, really! No announcement, no warning, just dumped down a chute and pulled willy nilly till I know neither up nor down. Disgraceful!" There was some more movement, and Wren could just imagine Beryl poking her finger towards the Goblin King. "Sackville-Bagginses know more about hospitality than this!"

Wren threw a terrified look at the Dwarven King, who was standing in front of her, his arm stretched back and around her, and she felt like nudging him to interfere. She then saw Fili stir to her left. His hand snaked under his coat, where one of the numerous knives was no doubt stashed, and then the Goblin King squawked, "What? You dare? What is this vermin before me?"

"I'm a Hobbit. Beryl Baggins of Bag End, but I'm most certainly not at your service. Hobbits have probably forgotten more about hospitality than you ever imagined possible. I mean really, was the pinching, pulling, and dragging necessary? Can you even speak without spittle flying?" Beryl's voice rang, and Wren felt the Dwarven King release her and make a step forward. Fili moved at the same time. But they were too late. The Goblin King roared, and now with her view field clear Wren could see him sway a clobber like cepter, and…

Beryl was gone.

* * *

Wren stood frozen. She could not believe. Did it actually happen?! Did she actually just lose her friend?! She was almost blind and deaf. She could see Fili rush to the edge of the platform, screaming, but Wren couldn't hear. Her heart was drumming in her throat, hands were shaking. She saw Goblins drag Fili away, he was fighting, and it took about a dozen of them to push him down to the ground. Other dwarves were also moving and shouting, but Wren couldn't find a single sound in her.

"Well, well, isn't it interesting? Dwarves, are we?" The Goblin King screeched over the Dwarves roaring and cursing him. "What are you doing in my caves?"

The answer that came from Fili was as eloquent as it was crude, and Wren shook off her stupour. She could finally blink and see how Kili and Balin were holding Fili back, while Thorin had to grab Dwalin's massive arm to prevent him from charging at the Great Goblin.

The disgusting Great Goblin tilted his head and his beady eyes roamed the company.

"Would you look at that? Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain." There was something greedy in the tone of the monstrous Goblin, and Wren felt terrified.

Even more terrified she felt when Thorin took a step forward, shoulders squared, calm dignity in the movement.

"Oh! But I'm forgetting…" The great Goblin sneered in a disgusting snide, and Wren watched him, her heart beating faster and faster. "You don't have a mountain, and you're not a king. Which makes you... nobody, really."

Wren gasped and to her own surprise she felt her hand lay on the hilt of the Elven sword Beryl had pushed onto her in the Troll cave. The Great Goblin threw a look over the Dwarf in front of him, and then he snarled in an appalling imitation of a smile.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak, an old enemy of yours. Bolg, son of Azog… Sounds familiar?"

"That's enough!" Was that her talking? That surely sounded like her voice, but Wren didn't remember opening her mouth. Neither she remembered stepping ahead and pointing her sword at the abdominal round stomach of the wart covered monster.

"What is this? Another Hobbit? Too skinny for that matter. And so orange, like a rotten carrot!"

"I said, enough!" At this stage Wren had to admit that was indeed her enraged voice. Interestingly, it was not shaking and was quite loud. "Close your foul mouth, or I will forget my oath and will gut you like a chukar for Summer Solstice Feast!"

"Wren..." She heard the King's voice from behind her, and she felt his presence behind her, but she was too far gone to listen to his warning.

"Keep your orange weasel on a leash, Oakenshield!" The Goblin King barked a derisive screechy laugh. "Or this one will follow the first one down on the sharp rocks."

That did it.

Wren made a step ahead, momentarily surprised by the assurance of her own motions, and in a movement trained through many years of surgery she stabbed, cutting through the femoral artery of the monster. Exsanguination, four to five minutes, possible earlier death by neurological shock, the professional part of her mind supplied. The Great Goblin swayed, other Goblins gasped and screeched, and then their disgusting King dropped on his knees in front of her. It was happening so fast that Goblins and Dwarves alike stood staring at her.

Wren pressed her foot into the chest of the monster and looked into his quickly clouding eyes.

"That is for Beryl." She gave him a confident push, and his heavy body toppled over the side of the platform they were on.

* * *

The cave was still and silent, somehow everyone except Wren was staring at the spot where the Goblin King stood a second ago. Wren was breathing in raspy short exhales, her hands shaking. The phrase that brought everyone out of the stupefaction came from Fili.

"That was my kill!" He sounded enraged. Wren whirled on her heels and glared at him.

"I loved her too!" she barked back.

"Are you going to stand here and bicker, or maybe you should start running before the Goblins wake up?" The calm and somewhat sarcastic voice of Gandalf the Grey came from a passage to their right.

The Dwarves moved, grabbing their weapons, Goblins started jumping at them, only to be thrown back. Wren saw Thorin pull his sword out of the scabbard.

"It is the Goblin-cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!" the goblins hollered in many terrified voices.

The long blade in Gandalf's hands glowered with the same blue light as Thorin's and Wren's, and the Goblins started shouting even louder, "He wields the Foe-hammer, the beater, bright as daylight!"

Dwarven weapons started flying, Wren saw Fili swirling both his swords, Bombur grabbed his terrifying ladle, Kili's short wide sword was already slashing flesh with a loud squelch.

* * *

They ran, Thorin in front of her, Dwalin behind. The sword was idle in her hands, she had never in her life fought before, and the Goblin King's life was the first she had ever taken intentionally.

The passages and hanging bridges they were rushing through were intertwined and rocking, and soon she understood she had to take up arms too. The Dwarves clearly kept in mind her inexperience, and she was protected most of the time. More than once the King would swirl his Elven blade, chopping off two or three heads at the same time, Dwalin's enormous axe would clear a path for her, or Fili's swords would slice and push the Goblins off her way.

They would get separated, and then get together again, the order in their procession would get rearranged, and suddenly she would be the first running. Wren pulled herself together and did her best. The sword was just the right size for her, not too heavy, but with the perfect balance and just enough weight for a good thrust and cut.

* * *

And finally she saw a glimmer of daylight in front of them, and they sped up, Goblins howling louder behind them, sensing the prey was getting away. Keeping her eyes on the exit in front of her Wren didn't notice a rock under her feet and stumbled over it. But immediately she felt the King's arms around her, and he dashed ahead, as much as carrying her, and they were outside.

With the Goblins shrilling and squealing behind them, they ran away from the caves, maneuvering between the fir trees, and finally came to a stop. They were breathing heavily, and Wren heard Gandalf mumbling.

"Five, six, seven, eight. Bifur, Bofur, that's ten. Fili, Kili, that's twelve. And Bombur, that makes thirteen. The honourable healer is here…"

Wren saw some of the Dwarves lean on the tree trunks, some were catching breath folded in two, hands pressed to the knees. Wren met Bofur's eyes. If asked, she would say they were terrified yet full of admiration.

"That is quite a bloodthirst you showed there, honourable healer. Quite a ginger snap..."

As soon as he pronounced it, so reminiscent of the moniker Beryl had given her and thought Wren didn't know of, the realisation dawned on Wren. Beryl was gone. Others seemed to have come to the same understanding, and Wren saw faces grow wan and devastated.

Wren sobbed loudly and threw her arms around Thorin's neck. His hand lay on the back of her head, another one soothingly rubbing her between shoulder blades, and Wren let herself cry.

From the corner of her eye she saw Balin wipe a tear, Dwalin clenching his fists, and Fili stepping away from the company, turning to face away from them. Now that she was gone, it was quite clear whose heart was most attached to the Hobbit. Kili stepped to his brother and placed his hand on Fili's shoulder.

"Where is Beryl? What happened? Tell me!" Gandalf demanded an answer in a loud tense voice, and Wren cried louder, desperately clinging to the King.

"The Goblin King… He pushed her off the platform..." Balin answered in a hollow voice. Wren heard Fili drew a sharp breath in, in a pained inhale, and Kili moved closer to his brother. "We lost her..."

"We lost the Hobbit," Thorin spoke gravely, and Wren pressed her forehead to his shoulder. "It is our fault. We dragged her on the quest with us, and… failed to protect her. She had never let us down, and now we… failed." Wren wrapped her arms around his neck even tighter, and he hid his face in her hair.

"She was a brave Hobbit, and… the blood of Longbeard ran honourably in her veins. She will be missed." The King finished his short eulogy, and Wren felt a shudder run through him. Balin gravely added something in Khuzdul.

There was nothing else to say, and Wren cried, swallowing her tears, feeling the body of the King rigid and tense under her arms.


	31. Out of the Frying Pan

**A/N: And we return to our regularly scheduled Hobbit...**

* * *

"Stop! Make it stops my precious! It stabses our earses!" Gollum writhed on the ground, shrieking as if dying. Beryl stopped her six hundredth rendition of "Pease Porridge Hot" to regard the still squirming Gollum with her hands firmly placed on hips, staff safely tucked in the loop of one arm.

"You are a dramatic one, aren't you? Ready to show me the way out? I can always start singing again." Beryl reminded him. Gollum stared daggers at her from his place on the cavern floor.

"Yes! Yes! We'll show the nasty ear stabber the ways out!" He finally hissed as he pulled himself up. Beryl did not care for the sly sideways look he gave her, muttering to himself. Something occurred to him, making him turn and regard her with a wide grin. "Yes, we'll shows it the way out, but first, must get our present!"

"Oh no you don't! You're just looking to disappear into the dark and try to catch me unawares! I may have cracked my head falling down here, but I'm not so far gone as that, yet. I want you where I can see you! Afterall, I don't have to see you to melt your ears off singing, now do I?"

"Curses it! We just wants our birthday present! We needs it!" Gollum angrily thrashed on the ground.

'Alright, alright, fine. I'll just follow behind you, then, while you go get it." Gollum was somewhat peeved by her insistence, but soon enough started off, cackling to himself and casting sly eyed glances back at Beryl, who kept her staff up between them.

"You'll has to wait here. My present is on my island, yes. I can'ts takes you on my boat. There's only room for one." Gollum cackled to himself again. Slipping off into the water quiet as the frog-snake cross he so reminded Beryl. She sat there, waiting, and waited still longer. She finally got bored enough she started fiddling with her pocket, where she rediscovered the item she'd picked up earlier. Drawing it out in the light of her staff, she saw it was a plain gold band. She looked it over, then put it back in her pocket. Perhaps it was the lost wedding ring of one of Hissycroaker's unfortunate victims. He didn't look too picky. He'd probably eaten more than his fair share of poor lost merchants on top of his regular diet of grunters and squeakers.

Beryl continued to fidget, and jumped three feet when Gollum shrieked in anger and dismay. She didn't feel the ring slip onto her finger as she startled. She was too busy preparing to fight for her life.

"Gone! Gone! Where is it, precious! My Precious! Where?" Here the voice dropped to murderous growls. "Took it! Yes, nasty little light sticker! She has it, doesn't she, My Precious! We'll squeeze it out of her!" Beryl resigned herself to having to knock the horrid little creature in the head, then try to make her way out of these tunnels on her own. Unless she found some great reserve of luck, or a squeaker to follow out, she knew she was probably doomed.

Imagine her surprise when Gollum's head weaved about, as if not seeing her at all. "Gone? How is she gone? Of course she's gone! Gone with my precious, but where? Back door, yes, she'd go to the back door. Doesn't know the way out, but knows the way in? Bah!" Still mumbling imprecations and copious howls to 'My Precious" Beryl followed Gollum as quickly and quietly as she could, wondering why Gollum couldn't see her. Glancing down to shift her grip on her staff, she noticed the ring on her finger, and the rather ghostly appearance her body had taken. She'd found a magic ring here in the depths, of all things! Now it all made sense. Gollum had meant to collect the ring and attack her while she couldn't see him, How lucky was it she'd found his ring, and now, he was unknowingly guiding her out! Perhaps she'd found that reserve of luck after all?

The trail twisted and turned, sometimes so narrow she had to suck in her gut to pass by. Yet Gollum slithered through hardly slowing his pace, muttering under his breath the whole way. Beryl was hard put to keep him in sight. Why she could see him reflected in the glow of her staff while he remained oblivious escaped her understanding. She dismissed it as part of the ring's magic and kept pace as best as she could. Gollum was one fast little hissycroaker.

She finally caught sight of a lighted corridor ahead that wasn't the pale blue of her staff's glow. they were coming to an inhabited corridor. She watched Gollum approach as carefully as he could, but could not bring himself to venture into the torch's circle of light. He whimpered, he muttered, and cursed, all in his Precious' name, yet he could not stir beyond the safety of his darkened crack.

Beryl was left with a conundrum. There was a quite solid hissycroaker between her and the lighted corridor. Gollum had called it 'The Back Door' more than once, so she could only assume it led Outside. She hoped once she got into it she could tell which way Outside was from there, however, before she could worry about which way to run, she had to get past Gollum.

The dark crack they had traversed wasn't big enough to slide past him, so her choices were either to go over him, or through him. Beryl hefted her staff, considering. Even with her best effort, she doubted she could clear Gollum's height, even as bent over as he was. That left through. Could she, though? Could she bring herself to hit another, without her life being in immediate danger.

That was the problem of it, because in all actuality it was, even though there was nothing breathing down her neck this moment. She was stuck in a crack with a murdering thing that used to be a Hobbit, and she was stuck here until she could bring herself to get past him somehow. Beryl shook all the doubts out, squared her feet, raised her staff, and knocked Gollum cold.

She checked and found the little monster was still breathing. She drug him back further into the crack, where any squeakers or grunters would be less likely to find him. The best she could tell, he'd wake with one massive headache, but he'd be alive and most likely still undiscovered. It was all she could offer him. Beryl snuck past him into the corridor, and saw a massive iron door slowly closing on a beautiful mountain evening. She raced towards it, skirting through by a button's breath, several of which she left on the Goblin side of the door. She half ran, half slid, down the steep sides into a copse of fir trees, where the welcome sight of Dwarves, Wren, and Gandalf greeted her.

She listened for a moment to Thorin's speech, slowly realizing all the nice words were about her! Remembering her ring, she quickly slipped it off her finger and into her pocket, and quietly snuck up on the group, waiting for an opportune time to remake Her Boys' acquaintance. Thorin stopped, and Beryl breezed in as if she'd always been there.

"Aw Thorin, I didn't know you cared so." She might have miscalculated slightly, because Beryl found herself the center of a huge hug pile. Wonder of wonders, Thorin, grumpy, crotchety, and contrary Thorin hugged her as hard as Fili or Balin. Beryl might have found she survived the travails of the mountain just to be squashed by her Dwarves, wizard, and Wren.

"Beryl Baggins. I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life." Now Beryl was concerned. Not only was the crotchety and cranky Thorin happy to see her, but the wizard was getting downright emotional. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Step back! Let her breathe a bit! You're crushing her." Wren bullied the surprised and happy Dwarves out of her way. "Besides, I want a hug, too!" And there went the rest of Beryl's lungs.

"Hobbit can't breathe!" Beryl managed to wheeze, and Wren reluctantly loosened her grip. Fili took the opportunity to gather Beryl up in his arms for another hug. She let him for half a minute, before she thumped him on the arm and gave him her best glare.. "You! I'm still mad at you," Just as his face fell, she hugged him tight. "But I'm glad to see you, too." For the second time in as many minutes, Beryl's lungs were squished to pieces, though she couldn't say she minded too much.


	32. And into the Firecones

**A/N: Thank my overweaning impatience. It's up a day early. Wren, as always, appears courtesy of the marvelous kkolmakov feel free to stop by her page and peruse her plethora of fanfictions.**

* * *

The endless rounds of hugging might have lasted into the rest of the evening, but a long deep howl, deeper than any normal wolf's bay, was quickly joined by others, some uncomfortably close to where they were.

A look of sheer aggravated disbelief crowded out the smile Thorin had been sporting. "Out of the frying pan…" He growled.

"And into the fire…" answered Gandalf, all the worry in the world in his voice. "Run!" Down they all scrambled, clambering over rocks and jumping fallen logs like a herd of antelope with the warg pack closing on their heels.

"Quickly! Up the trees!" Wizard put words to actions as he quickly scaled a large fir in a copse that bordered the fallen scree from the mountain on one side and the dark forested valleys on the other. The Dwarves swarmed up the trees quick as locusts. Beryl was impressed, but left grounded. No branches swung low enough for her to get a purchase, so there she was, left hopping like a mad thing, trying to reach safety herself.

"Beryl! Here!" Fili called from the larch he and his brother had claimed. He was hanging by his knees from the lowest branch, and held his hand out, reaching for her. Still it was too far for Beryl to reach. Luckily, her staff made all the difference. Between them Fili and Kili hauled the panting Hobbit to safety just as the first warg snapped at her kicking heels.

In fact, an embarrassed yelp from below caused Beryl's face to light up with a rather satisfied smirk. "Teach you rotten wargs to snap at me! Hah!"

And oh! Didn't that bit of snark set off the wargs below them. For the third time in two days, language unfit for mortal ears assaulted Beryl as the wargs snarled and snapped their discontent at her, promising all sorts of dire retribution should she fall into their slavering jaws.

Into this delightful milling of wargs beneath their trees, the first lit fircone plummeted. The enchanted flames set them howling something fierce.. Some had the presence of mind to roll the flames out. Others, too far gone in the agony of a blazing fur coat, ran pell mell through their compatriots, setting all and sundry ablaze. It didn't take long for the unlit wargs to chase away their burning comrades, sending them off to set the dry underbrush ablaze in their misery.

Yet the numbers of wargs below them were slowly thinned by Gandalf's efforts, and it didn't take long for Beryl and the rest to join in pelting the wargs below. In fact, Kili and Beryl started a bit of a contest to see which of them could light the most Wargs up. Beryl crowed with glee when she managed to catch the Alpha afire. It set him raging so amongst his brethren that three wargs fell to his fury before he put his coat out rolling in the hard scrabble below them.

"He still only counts as one!" Snapped Kili.

"But he killed three!" Beryl huffed back.

"You only hit the one, though." Was his unflappably logical reply.

"Fili, hand me another before I pelt your brother." Beryl's tone was as dry as the fircones Gandalf was lighting. It tickled her they burned in colors as bright as the fireworks from Old Took's Midsummer parties.

Yet as valiant as they tried, their brief reprieve could not last. Wargs were not only bigger than normal wolves, they're also more clever. Runners had already set off back towards the mountains to get the Goblins, and the Goblins had sent for someone else. It did not take long before Bolg's hunting pack and the Goblins from the mountains showed up beneath their trees. The Goblins set to putting out fires and Wargs, except for those closest to the trees occupied by The Company, and laughed at their precarious predicament. Some even began to sing, and Beryl considered stabbing her own eardrums just to get relief.

Sixteen Birds, in Five Fir Trees

Their feathers were fanned, in a fiery Breeze

But funny little birds, they had no wings

Oh what shall we do, with the funny little things?

"Silence!" Even the most hard headed Goblin snapped his mouth shut at the fierce command of the Gundabad Orc pacing towards the Company's trees on a warg black as pitch. "I wish to savor this moment. Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, cowering in the branches." Bolg drew in a deep breath, and held it, exhaling slowly as if savoring a fragrant perfume. "You can smell the fear on the air. It reminds me of your Father, mewling and mindless. Did you know the Necromancer gave me the honor of finishing him? Now, it seems, I'll end his pitiful son as well." He laughed, and a crueler laugh never did Beryl hear before. Beryl turned to study Thorin, worried at how he might take the horrid words.

Thorin and Wren seemed to be arguing something, both gesturing wildly, and Thorin pointing to something down behind their tree. Wren did not seem impressed, and argued even harder, poking Thorin in the chest. It ended with Thorin, for once, grabbing Wren and kissing her hard. She smacked him on the arm, and Thorin pulled her too him, resting their foreheads together as he cradled the back of her neck in his massive hand. One last long look in her eyes, and he turned to sign something at Fili and Kili in their Dwarfish sign language. They both nodded grimly. Thorin lept down from the safety of his perch. Beryl could hear Wren screaming "Noooooooooo!"

"You want me, Bolg? Here I am. Come and face me, if you've not turned coward. Do you not remember what happened to the last of your line I met in battle?"

"There's no Dain here to save you from your foolishness this time, Dwarf!" Bolg charged Thorin on his warg, the Dwarf only barely ducking in time. He managed a glancing blow on the muzzle of Bolg's warg, causing it to yip and buck, nearly unseating his rider.

Beryl had to admit begrudgingly that Bolg was a master rider. Not only did he keep his seat, but had the thing skip hop in the tightest turn and come charging back at Thorin. If Thorin hadn't managed that blow, he'd have no time to recover. As it was, he'd set for Bolg's charge, and this time, Thorin swiped his blade cleanly across the airborne warg's throat, rolling deftly to the side as it landed roughly, never to rise again. Bolg roared, and leapt after Thorin, raining blow after heavy blow on Thorin's shield. Thorin parried, ducked, whirled, and managed to just barely keep abreast of the heavy blows. It was clear that Thorin's stamina was flagging. After enduring the freezing rains and fighting his way clear of the Goblin caves, he was nearing the end of his reserves.

Beryl had been so wrapped up in watching the fight, she hadn't noticed the stealthy movement of the Dwarves from tree to tree. Imagine her surprise when she heard Fili right behind her bellowing a warning. "Behind you, Thorin!" Seamlessly, Thorin turned the parry into a full sweep, catching the warg leaping for his back. Unfortunately, he had no time to dodge, and the heavy warg's body pinned him to the ground.

"Bring me his head."

"Noooooo!" Beryl imagined few cries could pierce her heart quite like Wren's did. Wren fairly flew down out of the trees, drawing her elvish dagger and taking up a defensive stance in front of the pinned Dwarf. Beryl was proud of her, the blade only danced a little in her hands, though she knew the healer was terrified.

"Blast it woman! Get out of here!" Thorin huffed and shoved at the warg pinning him. Before he'd appeared worried, now a look of sheer dawning horror coated his features.

"I will not leave you!" Wren's chin went up and her nose twitched as fast as a rabbit's, but she would not move. Bolg's Orcs laughed at her, one cockily tried to swipe her elvish blade out of her hands, only to lose fingers to the sharp edge. Beryl was torn. She wanted to put herself bodily between her friends and danger, but she could do more for them providing cover in the form of Gandalf's firecones.

Fili and Kili, though, had no such problems. With a "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai menu!" Dwarves flung themselves out of the trees and into what was becoming a brawl of epic proportions. Soon the Dwarves had formed a protective circle around the pinned Thorin, and the Goblins, wargs, and Bolg's Orcs formed a ring three deep surrounding them.

"Kill them." Bolg commanded, and all the Orcs, Goblins, and wargs moved in on them. Fili handily fended off three of them to one side of Wren, both blades whirling in a concerted effort to mince as many foes as possible. What Bombur didn't send flying with his massive war axe, he bounced off his immense girth and usually flattened three more with the victim's landing. All around Wren the Dwarves fought, and Beryl and Gandalf kept flaming fir cones coming, keeping them from getting overwhelmed. Despite the Company's best efforts, one broke through and came after Wren.

He carelessly knocked her elven blade aside, causing her to stumble back into the warg pinning Thorin. She curled herself protectively around the trapped king. The Orc raised his blade over the prone figures of Wren and Thorin. It never fell as the night air was rent with a golden explosion. Sparks flew up on the night breeze, dancing with the colorful embers of Gandalf's firecones. Ribbons of that golden energy snaked their way up the Orc, and met where his head used to be. Everyone stared, and Beryl wondered just how Gandalf pulled that miracle off. Glancing up, she nearly fell out of her tree as the wizard was wearing the same perplexed expression as everyone else. If he didn't, then who did?

From overhead, the piercing cry of an eagle split the night. Gandalf called something back in what Beryl assumed was wizard speak. He jumped clear of his tree to the swooping bird, the massively huge swooping bird, and soon the rest of the flight fell upon the still stunned Orcs, Goblins, and wargs. Some used their great wings to fan the flames into the howling masses, some dropped trees on them, others grabbed up wargs, goblins, or orcs to drop them from great heights. The rest of the enemies scattered, leaving the confused and exhausted Company as they disappeared back into the mountains or the shadows of the forests. Only then did the eagles start collecting The Company.

* * *

Crazy25: As you can see, I am working on it steadily, and even put a chapter up a page early. Does this help? ^_^

I like to reply to all my reviews. If you're logged in, expect at least one email, if not more, from me regarding your review. All others I'll reply at the end of the chapter...cause i'm a chatterbug.


	33. Up, Up, and Away!

**A/N: Hey all! Answers to guest reviews at the bottom of the chapter. Reviews really do help a writer, it lets us know what we did right, and what we might improve upon. Hope this chapter lives up to expectations, on with the show!**

**As always, Wren used with permission of one fantastic writer known as kkolmakov. **

* * *

When an eagle came for Thorin, Wren had to help the eagle roll the carcass off him. All sorts of interesting language flew from the king's lips as they extracted him. Beryl could tell there was some attempt to moderate it, but from the occasional grimace on Wren's face, it wasn't always successful. The way she was clutching his shield, (and why it wasn't on his arm) told her they now had an injured Dwarf on their hands. They were arguing again, only something seemed to prod Thorin's humor as much as his temper. There was an indulgent smile amongst the grimaces of pain as he was jostled into place. Beryl would have to find out later what it was about, because just then, she found herself swept up in massive talons only to be tossed willy nilly onto the back of an eagle.

"Oh for the love of all that's good, please don't drop me!" Beryl squeaked and clutched convulsively at the long satin smooth feathers she now found herself upon.

"Ho! There is someone there, after all. You're a light one aren't you?" A short shriek later, the eagle amended "With a fierce grip. Leave a few feathers, would you?"

"Sorry. I've never flown before." Beryl had just gotten the apology out, when a rather shrieky Wren was deposited next to her. She quickly wrapped an arm around Wren before she could slide off the feathered back.

"Put me back! I need to be with the King! That one, with the broken arm!" Wren was craning her neck to watch Thorin and his eagle.

"Not with you holding onto his shield for dear life. He can barely hold himself steady. How would he hold you, too?" Beryl tried to reason with her, but she thought maybe Wren was a bit too wrung out for reason just this moment. She had a lot of questions for her friend, but felt now might not be the best time for them. They were miles above the earth on an eagle's back that had, until just a while ago, been little more than grand stories to tell by the hearth.

Beryl's eyes were glued open, watching it all pass beneath her as they flew. She took in the summer stars above, the passing dark shapes of trees below, and off in the distance, a mighty cliff city of Eagle Eyries. They were not the broken branch things of a regular eagle. Great eagles were as much like normal eagles as humans were like long tailed monkeys. These were sculpted things of beauty, and Beryl took it all in with wonder, and soon, the sight of Gandalf talking with the Chief Eagle himself came into view as she and Wren were safely deposited next to them. The Chief Eagle was laughing.

"No, I have not forgotten the wizard who saved me from a well aimed arrow. This was a kindness long overdue."

"And I find myself in a situation where I must ask to impose upon our friendship further." Beryl did not stick around to listen to the rest of the negotiations. It appeared the next leg of their journey may be by eagle wings. A loud reminder from the Chief Eagle that they'd go no where near human settlements and their long yew bows informed her it may not be as far as she'd have liked. She found Wren with a seated Thorin, checking him over from head to toe. He was trying to fuss at her about something, but she was having none of it.

"I thought I told you to go down the back of the tree into that hidden ravine." Thorin found himself grumbling into the top of Wren's head. She was intently checking his ribs and abdomen for hidden injuries.

"So you did, but I do believe I made it clear I was not leaving you. Raise your arm, does this hurt?" Thorin winced as she checked his ribs under the uninjured arm. They were apparently tender. "Besides, it was a terrible plan. What would have kept the wargs from following our scent after? We would be right back in the trees or worse, and you would not be there to protect me or anyone." She gave Thorin a sly glance. "I also think your Company was very thankful for an excuse to not follow through."

"What?" He regretted the sudden move to stand almost immediately, cradling the sore arm close to his body with the other.

"Do you not understand how important you are to this quest? You, Thorin, are the reason they are here in the first place. Do you think it has any chance of success if you abandon it?"

"I did not abandon the Quest! I was providing the necessary distraction for your escape to continue the Quest!" His indignant roar was cut short by yet another sore spot her clever fingers found, and ended in a growling wince. Wren tsked at him over his shoulder, checking his back.

"Noble sentiment. Questionable reasoning. Would you leave Fili behind if it had been his grand idea to play distraction? Or Bifur? What if it had been myself or Beryl that had hopped down there as a sacrifice? What then?" Now that Wren had assured herself the arm was the worst of it, she gave it her full attention, causing more than a few sounds of discomfort and pain from her charge. "Bless the sturdiness of Dwarven bones. It is not a full break, but it will need time to heal. I must speak to Gandalf."

Wren stalked off to talk to Gandalf and the Chief Eagle the moment she had his arm bound enough to suit her, leaving him staring after her with a mix of aggravation and pride. He chuckled to himself, then carefully moved over to where Bofur, with the help of some of the eagles, had started making a camp for the Company.

"So, will you tell us how you survived such a fall?" Fili had sidled up to Beryl. She startled a little, as she had been lost in her own thoughts.

"Not just now, I'd just be repeating the tale once we're all together. It boils down to sheer dumb luck, though. That entire mountain is nothing but tunnels and chutes." Beryl shuddered from top to furry toe at the memory, causing Fili to chuckle.

"I want to be front and center when you decide to share the tale." He tilted his head, a sad, crooked smile in place. "Am I forgiven yet?"

It took some doing on her part, but Beryl managed to keep her expression steady. She pretended to study Fili through narrowed eyes. "Are you going to do something that daft again?" Unfortunately, Fili was a quick study. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at her. Those beaded mustache braids twitched with a half hidden smile. The eyebrow was her undoing, though, and she finally smiled.

"I will probably do something at least that thoughtless at some point in time, but never with the intent to hurt you. Peace between us?" Fili pulled her back against him, resting his head on her soft brown curls.

"I suppose. You look pitiful when I say no." She wouldn't admit, even on pain of death, how she had missed that solid wall of warmth at her back. Beryl saw Wren rejoining them. "What's the news from on High?"

"We'll be overnighting as guests of the Eagles. In the morning, we will be dropped a short walk from where we'll be convalescing until Thorin is well enough to travel." Not only was Wren's nose twitching, but she was chewing her bottom lip. "I am worried about this resting place Gandalf has chosen. He does not seem as sure of our welcome as he would have us believe. What sort of person must this friend be, if the wizard is unsure of our welcome?"

"Could it be a case of 'best of a bad situation'? I know the Eagles won't just fly anywhere. I heard the Chief Eagle got a little too close to an archer once. He won't risk his people by flying near a settlement." Beryl offered from her Fili blanket. He had not let go, and seemed disinclined to release her anytime soon, not that Beryl was trying very hard. Wren's mouth twitched, and Beryl's cheeks colored to see it.

"Alright lads 'n lasses, come and get it before Bombur eats it all." Bofur's voice rang loud and clear. Beryl was heartily glad of the distraction.

Off to the side, a merry fire blazed, and on the stones, several potatoes baked, and rabbits spitted on savory roasting sticks were leaned against each other over the cheerful flames. The fragrant wood would leave a mouthwatering flavor in the meat. Without looking, Bofur thumped the back of Bombur's hand. "You've had yours, now off wi' ye." Beryl saved a spitted coney and potato for Wren, knowing she'd see first to Thorin.

* * *

_Guest chapter 32 . Jul 12_

_Thank you for the early post. I am hoping for some developement in Baryl an Fili relationship. Is it ever going to happen? They hardly spoke after starting on their adventure. What is that boy thinking? p.s . Thanks for no Azog, also :)_

~ You are very welcome, on all fronts. I hope this answers some of those. This is primarily about adventure, but, being me, i couldn't help throwing a little romance in along the way. I can also promise at least one more Counseling story is in the works, focusing on Beryli (Katya's term).

_Guest chapter 32 . Jul 12_

_ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! you made a GIMLI reference! Life complete! Especially since Kili said it :) I love that little twerp! And whoo hoo eagle magic! that's the best kind there is! I wish I could have one of those eagles...I'd never be late for anything ever again... plus I'd always have that wind blown sexy hair look, and who could say no to that? And I'd name it Jupiter...or Chompy either one of those would do. Any way, I just love me some kick ass Wrennie, I still can't get over how bad ass she was when she killed the goblin king, ughhhhhh hold on I'm having a flashback...it just never gets old! I can't wait to see Thorin be all 'roar roar roar what were you thinking woman?!' then they kiss and make everyone feel awkward! good times...any way later days buddy!_

~Yes, yes I did, and I regret nothing! Glad you found it as amusing as I did. I'm rather partial to that cheeky scamp of a Kili myself. Tell you what, you ever befriend a Great Eagle, lemme know how you did it, 'cause I wouldn't mind one myself.

Kickass Wren makes me very giddy, hence letting her get a bit of her own last chapter and this. Thou shalt not touch her friends (or true love ;)) Hope you'll be as psyched about the next chapter as this one. *hugs*

**Thank you to all my reviewers. Your input matters, and helps make me a better writer. Until next time!**


	34. Grin and Bear It

**A/N: As always, Wren appears courtesy of kkolmakov  who was kind enough to help me a bit with her dialog. If you've not gotten over to her page yet, you're missing out on quality Thowren Fiction Guest reviews at the bottom.**

* * *

The next morning found them deposited in an area Beryl didn't know whether to call an organized meadow or a haphazard field. Flowers she thought she recognized grew to sizes she didn't think possible, and they were grouped by color and species into irregular patches. Honeybees nearly the size of her head buzzed contentedly about the flowerheads nodding in a light breeze.

A merry stream burbled along side one edge of the rioting colors. The water was so clear that she could count the speckles on the backs of the fish flitting across the pebbled bottom. Beryl wanted a bath, but saw no way to get a moment of privacy to do so. Wren apparently had the same thought.

A short conference between Wren, Gandalf, and Thorin had their Boys contentedly bathing and splashing some distance away, while the girls found themselves soaking in what amounted to a shady sheltered pool. Some sort of flowering cane dropped fragrant petals in the water around them, and the pebbles gave way to a soft fine grained sand on the bottom.

Beryl and Wren used it to scrub out the grimy scent of the goblin caves. While they waited for their clothes to dry, they used the oils from the drooping petals to soothe their skin from the summer sun and the sand scouring. Wren recognized them from a smaller variety in the healing gardens that was good for soothing the skin. Beryl was only too happy to comply.

"Oh thank you. Nothing like a healer's hands to rub the muscles out." Beryl all but melted in the grass beside the stream. She'd done her best by her friend, but something told her she got the better end of this particular deal.

"So, what else did you find down there besides the hissycroaker?" Wren grinned as she felt the Hobbit flinch under her hands. While everyone was around the campfire last night, Beryl's miraculous return was discussed, and in return, Beryl got a full accounting of how Wren and their Boys escaped.

"How did you? Nevermind, I ought to expect that sort of insight from you by now. I found a strange magic ring. I want to talk to Gandalf about it, but can't seem to catch him when he's not distracted by something else. It scares me a bit, even though I'm sure it saved my life from that creepy, scabrous thing." The Hobbit shuddered under Wren strongly enough to make her orange curls bounce.

"Why does it scare you, Beryl?" Like a strong poultice, Wren's soft voice pulled the poisonous worries out of Beryl in one long ramble.

"What if it made Hissycroaker that way? Will it do that to me, too? Sometimes it feels like it pulls at my thoughts, and I'm not sure if it's really doing that, or if it's just my own fears playing tricks. That's why I want Gandalf's full attention, and not the whole committee treatment." Beryl flopped over onto her back, hands behind her head as she stared grumpily up at the few feathery clouds gracing the brilliant blue sky. "If it's safe, then it's a useful tool that can make getting the arkenstone possible. If it isn't safe well, just how dangerous is it? Is it enough to warrant disposing the one thing that could make this mad venture work?" Beryl turned pleading eyes to Wren. "Don't you see? I'm scared of it, and at the same time, it's the first bit of hope I've found to getting all of us through this quest alive and well." Beryl twisted up fistfulls of grass in her distress, releasing a faintly lemon fragrance into the air. The scent seemed to help calm her, as did Wren's soothing hands rubbing her arm.

"I think I can help you get time to talk to the wizard, but I want you to promise me something." Wren's nose was twitching again, and that got Beryl's full attention.

"Oh?"

"Will you do the same for me?" Wren asked. Beryl felt it was time she shared what she'd seen, and what she'd been thinking ever since.

"He doesn't know anything about it." Beryl's words dropped like smooth stones in a still pool. Wren's catlike eyes widened as her head came up.

"What? He must!"

"He was as perplexed by it as anyone. I saw his face when it happened."

"But there's no one else to ask about it." Wren flopped back on the soft grass, thinking hard.

"It seemed to come from you." As Wren nodded at her comment, Beryl became insistent. "Did you always know you had magic?" Wren shook her head no. Beryl's eyes grew wide and she snickered. "Oh gracious, remember what I said? You really are magic."

"I am glad my unexpected uncontrollable magic that is currently making me want to itch and squirm has confirmed your words, Beryl. I will endeavour to entertain you further more." Wren's dry wit helped calm Beryl's merriment. It was her turn to rub Wren's arm gently.

"He's had time to think, maybe something's occurred to him since then. You know I'll be happy to distract the Boys so you can talk to him about it. " Beryl gave Wren a comforting hug.

"I am grateful for it, because it allowed me to save Thorin's life. I can feel it buzzing along like bees in my veins. It is distracting. I need to learn about it, how to harness it, and my only hope to do that is through Gandalf." Wren patted Beryl's back, letting her know she was alright.

Once everyone was clean, dried, and clothed again, Gandalf called all the Company together. "We are currently in the lands of a singular gentleman named Beorn. He is a rather reclusive fellow, and a skinchanger."

"He's under some kind of enchantment, then?" asked Dori.

"The only enchantment he may be under is his own, and I suggest you keep such thoughts to yourself for your own sake." Gandalf's clear warning now had all their attention. "I won't pretend to you that he is some sort of gentle person, nor will I tell you a fairy tale about his even temper, but if we are lucky and smart, he may just help us."

Gandalf gave them a very general outline of his plan. He would go to meet Beorn with both the healer and the Hobbit 'since together they were almost enough to make one' and he arranged the Dwarves as he muttered to himself. He finally nodded and told them to follow in pairs every five minutes after he gave a signal. He then set off determinedly across the bee pastures, as he called them, with Wren and Beryl following closely.

They hadn't gotten far before a pair of lovely white and brown horses careened into view, jolted to a stop, and then bolted back the way they had come.

"He'll be this way, then. Come along." Gandalf set off directly after the horses. Beryl and Wren shared a look as they followed in the wizard's wake.

It didn't take long. There beside a huge, rough timbered house, built more like a lodge or mead hall, stood a tall, broad shouldered man with shaggy brown hair past his shoulders, and a massive, curling brown beard. He was splitting logs for the hearth, every move smoothly graceful. He struck Beryl as something akin to an oversized Dwarf.

"And there they are. Alright, I've seen them. You can be off now." Beorn spoke something else to the horses. It consisted of whickers, neighs, and whinnies, but in a pattern much like regular speech. The pair trotted off contentedly. Beorn laughed deep in his belly, watching his horses go like a proud father. He then turned a merry pair of shrewd brown eyes on Gandalf and the two women. "Well then, who are you, and what do you want?"

"I am Gandalf the Grey, and these two are my companions, Beryl Baggins, a Hobbit of the Shire, and Wren of Enedwaith, a Healer from Bree. We have had no small troubles in our travels, and now find ourselves stranded without food, shelter, or our equipment."

"Gandalf ? Never heard of you. Never heard of a Hobbit, either." Beorn stalked over to them, towering over even Gandalf, and bent to study Beryl. She'd curtsied as politely as her trousers and buttonless vest would let her when introduced, but returned his skeptical look glare for glare when he studied her like a new bug, causing Beorn to go into that deep rumbling belly laugh again. "I had thought at first you might be a little brown bunny, but that glare more suits a badger."

"It has been a long strange road for our Beryl from the Shire." Gandalf stroked his beard, noting Beorn's curiosity in the Hobbit. Beryl spared a visual dagger just for the wizard. Apparently, he was willing to use Beorn's curiosity to gain the help they so desperately needed. The things she was made to endure.

"It started with our company dropping in on her unexpectedly." Gandalf shared.

"Now how is a little slip of a girl like her, and an old man like you a hardship, much less a company?" Beorn crossed his treetrunk arms across the wall he called a chest.

"Oh, did I not share already? We did not all wish to impose upon your generosity. May I call the others?" Gandalf's manner was smooth as silk.

"Fine, if it will move the story along." Beorn gave a careless wave, and Gandalf whistled for the Company to begin their slow planned march. Beorn waited impatiently as Balin and Dwalin joined them. Both bowed low and offered their service.

"Fine, fine. Though I believe it is you who need my service, rather. Now Gandalf, this story you started, with the poor Hobbit beset by four guests overwhelming her?" Beryl did not care in the slightest for the sarcasm loaded in Beorn's voice. She wondered if it would really bad manners to kick him in the ankles. Though, reconsidering the ankles in question, she'd more likely break her own foot.

'Oh, she was hardly overwhelmed. Not caring for their careless treatment of her things, she quickly put them in the road with her broom." Gandalf chuckled, remembering the sight.

"She took her broom to a healer?" Shaggy brown brows rose in alarm.

"Not in the slightest." Gandalf scoffed. " In fact, the healer didn't join the Company, and that was at the Hobbit's insistence, until Bree."

'So we're again to three guests causing Beryl to take a broom to them?" It was easy to see Beorn was starting to lose his patience with the tale and Gandalf.

"Well, there was also Fili, and Kili here." Blonde and brown head bowed in tandem at Gandalf's introduction.

"That one tried to wipe his feet on my mother's sewing chest. Of course I took a broom to him!" Beryl felt she was not getting a fair shake in this telling, and had to speak up, causing that laugh to rumble again at her expense.

"And she held the entire host at her door." Gandalf began, his look said he as much as expected Beorn's next interruption.

"Host? This seems a host to you?" Beorn waved his hand dismissively over the four Dwarven heads present.

"Well, there was also Dori and Nori"

"Fine, fine, no, and I don't need your service." And once again Beorn called for Gandalf to continue the story. In this manner, Gandalf went through the entire tale, slowly adding the Company as he went, telling all the embarrassing details of the marriage proposals, getting knocked down a mountain, and escaping the foul hissycroaker, to popping back up on the other side of the mountain. Beorn laughed the whole way through. Though, once he learned it was Wren that killed the Great Goblin, Beryl finally relaxed as his weighty gaze turned to reassess the mild healer from Bree. She literally felt lighter than she had before. It was an almost giddy feeling. Bertyl finally relaxed and enjoyed Beorn's fine mead.

"I say, Gandalf, it seems you excel at finding curious traveling companions." Beorn was smiling through the great curling beard he was stroking thoughtfully. "If more beggars came to my door with stories to tell, they might find me a more tolerant host. You may rest easy tonight, and my animals will see to your care tomorrow. I've business that will take me away for a bit. We'll see what we shall see on my return."

"You have my thanks for your generosity." Beorn waved off Gandalf's pretty words and bow, and guided them into his hall.

* * *

_ dearreader chapter 32 . Jul 16_

_Great chapter. I liked your departures from the book. The outcome was the same, but the way you got them there was inventive and entertaining._

**~Awww Ty! I'm glad you liked it. I shall endeavor to keep at it.**

**As always, thank you all for reviewing. If I haven't responded to a review, it's because the cybermonster ate it. Let me know post haste so I may fix it and slay the dread beast.**


	35. When the Bear's Away

**A/N: I'd just like you to know this comes to you despite the worst summer storms could do. We were without power most of the night Broom Baggins was due to go up.**

**~P.S. A homemade Beryl Baggins Brownie to anyone that can guess the specie of bear from the description.**

* * *

Beorn's Hall was a wonder. It reminded her of Mead Halls from the stories Old Took would tell from the Grey Mountains. It had a high, arching roof supported by thick round beams with a smokehole over the round pitted hearth in the middle that warmed the whole place. A long, low table ran the length of one end, and it was carved with runic designs and fanciful animals over its whole surface. Beryl took her time marveling at it, until Beorn's booming laugh made her self conscious. Animals of all shapes and sizes looked after their care, and Beryl surmised more than a few were probably smarter than some Hobbits she could name.

Broadbacked sheep lead by a black ram brought in tableware, platters, and a snowy white tablecloth Wren and Beryl were happy to help spread out. Not even the finest of Aunt Bergamot's stitchings could compare with the embroidery she fingered on the edges. They were easy to match to the carvings she found on the table.

Dinner was a touch and go affair. No one could claim Beorn did not set a fine table, but as Gandalf had warned, there was no meat to be had anywhere. More than once a Dwarf grown careless on a full belly started to say something, but luckily either Gandalf, Wren, Beryl, or a more alert dwarf would send a little foot to foot communication to shut him up. Beorn seemed oblivious, continuing with his rousing tales of adventure and history. Some of them she recognized as variations on Old Took's tales, and others were looks into the hidden lives of the animals around them.

Eventually, even the stoutest appetite stalled on the honey braised mushroom caps, soft nutty breads, and creamy cheeses. The Dwarves moved into a circle around the banked hearth, telling their tales and singing their songs. Beryl made straight for the raised beds on the side of the hall. They were little more than fresh hay covered with crisp linen sheets and warm woolen blankets, but after the hardships of the road and Misty Mountains, they were as welcome as eiderdown featherbeds. Dwarven song lulled her to sleep, and she dreamed of bears dancing in the moonlight, singing their own songs.

"Hoy, sleepyhead, are you going to sleep the day away?" The cheerful voice was highly unwelcome, and Beryl had half a thought anyone that merry in the morning without a proper offering of warm coffee ought to be drawn and quartered in the village square.

"Where's breakfast" she managed through a jaw cracking yawn. It was amazing her tormentor could understand her, but somehow, he managed.

"Mostly inside us, but I did manage to save you a bit." Beryl finally cracked sleep filled eyes to take in the chipper grin and dimples winking at her. It was much too early to deal with that much sunshine. She tried to roll back over under her blankets, but found them pulled out from around her quick as a magician's trick. She landed on her backside with a thump. Before she could unleash the wrath of the woken, a steaming cup of coffee was shoved under her nose. She decided to let him live for now.

Breakfast consisted of honeycomb, clotted cream, warmed nutbread, and a tangy cheese the likes of which Beryl's tastebuds could not get enough. It had been a long time since her tummy had been this happy, and she was afraid she might have overdone it slightly. Sliding herself back from the table, Beryl regarded Fili with a little more charity.

"Alright you, now what was so important I had to get up right away?" Beryl asked with concealed humor. Fili was all but dancing in place before her, his entire face alight with whatever he wanted to share. Beryl was tempted to hold him still by his mustache braids just to get a straight answer out of him.

"Come look outside." Fili said as he dragged her out through the heavy front doors. There, all around the house, were bear prints.

"It must have been a veritable party out here. Big bears, little bears, some the likes of which I've not even heard tales of." Bofur bent close, his hand near buried to the wrist in one deep impression.

"And the largest of them head back towards the Misty Mountains." Dwalin pointed, and sure enough, one great track lead straight back towards the mountains they'd barely escaped.

"Now, why would he?" Beryl stopped herself. The answer seemed obvious.

"I do believe, my dear Beryl, that Beorn goes to see for himself whether the tale we told was true or not." Gandalf looked after the great tracks with a pensive expression. She wondered what else he was thinking to put that look on his face.

"How long will he be gone?" Wren's question was short and to the point. Beryl knew what was uppermost on her mind. Would they be there long enough for Thorin to travel safely?

"Oh, it will take him quite a few days to get there and back again, and then there is however long he stays there to get the answers he seeks. Thorin's arm should be ready to travel by then, I'm sure." Gandalf gave Wren one of those reassuring smiles that so rarely graced his weathered face. Wren simply nodded politely back. An idea struck Beryl. She was perfectly situated to give Wren the time she needed right now.

"Alright, that accounts for one bear, but where did all the others go? Boys, up for some bear tracking?" That was all it took. Beryl only snickered slightly when she found herself sandwiched between Kili and Fili as she was commandeered for their team. Oin called them all daft, and stumped back to the comfort's of Beorn's hall, Dori following right behind him. The rest grouped up by family unit, no surprise. What did surprise her was Bombur's enthusiastic participation. She almost expected him to join Oin and Dori. Apparently, Bombur was as good a tracker as he was a cook.

"How else is a Dwarf to ensure the right ingredients for his cookpot?" Bombur laughed, and the rest joined in, leaving Beryl feeling foolish. How, indeed? She cooked just fine with the help of her local market, thank you very much. The Dwarves just laughed the louder when she inevitably shared her thought. Once the merriment died down, they all chose their bear tracks to follow, and they were to meet back in time for the evening meal. Bread and cheese wrapped in clean cloths and waterskins filled at Beorn's artesian spring would see them through lunchtime nicely.

Beryl was having a marvelous time. Fili and Kili were entertaining company. They were only too proud to show off what woodcraft they had, and what they knew about the different sights they saw. This tree bore fruit fit for a king's table, this one had bark good for headache, that animal was a good guide to what was edible, that one was edible, and they weren't above sharing stories that made fun of themselves. The ones during their earliest days of weapons training were both the funniest and most horrifying. To listen to them, it was a miracle they were still alive. She now understood where a great deal of the grey in Thorin's hair came from.

They were following the tracks of four bears. They were all extremely long clawed, with one much larger than the other three.

"You do know, it must be just a sow and her cubs, right?" Beryl lifted the vine carelessly and glided through the underbrush beneath it as if it were barely there. Fili and Kili got through much less gracefully. Beryl snickered under her breath.

"It could just as likely be a Bull and his harem, you know." Kili offered, chuckling as Beryl huffed.

"Do bears have harems?" Beryl's brows furrowed in thought, trying to remember if she'd ever read any such thing before.

"Well, we've never seen long clawed tracks like these, either. Who knows how they organize themselves?" Fili shrugged. "It could just as easily be a sow and her suitors."

A light went off in Kili's face, and he drew in a deep breath through the most mischief happy grin Beryl ever saw. "Oh Fili, if it is, do I have the perfect name for her!"

Beryl spotted a stone that fit her hand and skillfully tossed and caught it repeatedly as she glared at Kili. 'Oh please, do tell." Fili laughed as his brother suddenly forgot what the perfect name was.

It was a mother bear and her cubs. They had long curved claws and extremely long tongues in a long muzzle. They found them rolling logs to get into termite mounds, the tongues lapping the termites easily. They'd never seen the like, and watched them for a while, eating their own lunch under a shady rowan.

The trip back was as fun and relaxed as the trip out. Beryl was heartily glad things were back to an even keel with Fili. She had an inkling Kili had more to do with that than he'd ever admit. Anytime things started to get awkward, he'd pop in with some ridiculous story or crack that'd break the ice before it could form properly, leaving everything fine and relaxed. They made it back well before the others, and sat for a while in the shade, enjoying the late afternoon breezes blowing the combined perfumes from the bee pastures their way. It reminded Beryl of her garden. She saw Gandalf and Wren out among the flowers walking together. They meandered casually among the barely organized flowerbeds. Whatever the wizard had to say to Wren, seemed to have helped, if their body language was anything to go by. Wren occasionally caressed a flowerbud, or bent down to sniff delicately at a particular bloom. It was not the manner of one told bad news. She could only hope for the same outcome when it was her turn to talk to Gandalf.


	36. Cake and Counsel

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and guesses. The story forgot to mention the very shaggy coat of the bears, so I gave credit to those that guessed 'sun bear.' I was actually aiming for 'sloth bears'. One reader actually guessed it! Way to go ****ninjagryffin18.**** There is a very familiar quote in this chapter, and it's all kkolmakov's idea, as is Wren's dialog. Thank you for helping me make this chapter happen.**

* * *

Beryl stood in the door, taking in the scene before her one last time before heading out with Gandalf's pie. Thirteen dwarves were sitting attentively at the long table, eyes firmly fixed on the baking delicacies in the oven, and the busy Wren that was creating magic in the kitchen area.

It started innocently enough. A bored Thorin was a dangerous Thorin, so Wren had pulled him into the kitchen with her while she baked. His eyes were glued to her dainty form as she danced, sang, and performed culinary magic. Raw ingredients quickly transformed into baked masterpieces under her ministrations.

Yavanna above, but could Wren bake. Beorn's animals filtered slowly into the Hall, drawn by the heavenly scones baking in the rustic oven. The first ones, cheese, were set before Thorin, though his eyes hardly left Wren as she danced about the prep table, humming a catchy little tune under her breath. Seeing her growing audience, she made a batch of clover biscuits, and another batch of oat and honey scones. That drew in the rest of Beorn's bestiary. Then The Company came nosing about as Wren's baking wafted throughout the Hall.

While Wren was prepping the dough for another batch, Beryl sidled up to her, ostensibly to hand her a bowl of saskatoon berries. "I thought you couldn't housewife?"

"I cannot. This is possibly my one wifely talent. I have never realised it before," Wren pinched the sides of the next pie plate. "But perhaps it is simply aided by my magic. I am all for modesty, but if you try my baking, you will know what I mean." Wren pointed at a strawberry rhubarb scone on a plate in front of Beryl. "See for yourself."

Beryl popped a bite in her mouth, and her eyes nearly crossed as the flavors all but melted on her tongue. 'Dear mercies, Wren. This alone would win anyone's undying devotion."

"Well, I try not to bake for men, Beryl. Who would need some mawkish suitor wandering around in search of my scones?" Wren giggled. "With great power comes great responsibility."

Beryl nearly choked on her bite, as she tried to control her mirth. Eyes twinkled as she considered a very smitten looking Dwarf watching Wren's every move. "Though I think you have that one's devotion even if they tasted like swamp muck."

"Perhaps," Wren giggled again. Her eyes darted to the King who was watching her hands move. "But even more so, I would think all of the men here are properly distracted, and if say, you happen to take the pocket pies I hid behind the window curtain and quietly offer one to a wizard, you would have plenty of private time with him."

Beryl's mouth formed a delicate 'o' as understanding dawned, and then she grinned at her friend. "You are too clever by half. Thank you." She quickly hugged her friend, grabbed the pies, and headed for the door. One last look at the properly distracted Company, and Beryl was out the door after a wizard.

It didn't take long to find Gandalf. He was walking along the furthest end of the Bee Pastures, studying the mountain horizon. It was obvious he was watching for Beorn's return. "Gandalf, Wren sends a treat. Thought you might could use a bite out here on your vigil." Beryl proffered him the pocket pie.

"Ah, thank you, Beryl. Though," Gandalf gave her a knowing look through his bushy brows as he took the proffered pie. "that's not the only reason you sought me out."

"Okay, honestly, how do you two do that?" Beryl shook her head. "Nevermind, that's not important right now. Yes, I needed your advice on something. What can you tell me about this? It turns me invisible." Beryl would never be able to articulate how hard she found it to say those words nor pull that ring out of her pocket. Something did not want her to show Gandalf that ring. However, that something had no idea just how stubborn a Hobbit named Beryl Baggins could be.

Gandalf's bushy brows rose as he bent over his staff to study the plain band lying innocently in the palm of the Hobbit's hand. He stood there considering long enough Beryl started to restlessly shift from foot to foot.

"Walk with me, Beryl. Tell me what you know of this ring you've found. I'm assuming it was this that allowed you to escape Gollum undetected?"

They walked a long while in the bee pastures, Beryl sharing everything she could from the moment she bumped into the ring in the depths of the mountains to rejoining the Company in the fir copse. Gandalf had since pulled out his pipe to help him think, and was lofting smoke rings on the breeze as he listened, nodded, and hummed in thought.

"To the best of my knowledge, Beryl, you have little to fear from this ring. There were only so many rings of power made. The three uncorrupted rings remain safely with their caretakers, The Nine that corrupted the kings of Men were banished with their cursed bearers. You researched for yourself the fates of the Dwarven rings, and beyond that, Isildur's Bane is lost to all time. This is most likely one of the lesser rings, a practice ring some smith forged long ago as he learned his craft. I cannot imagine it poses any threat to you."

"And what about that hissycroaker, Gollum fellow? I know he must have once been a Hobbit, or something like a Hobbit, how did he get that way?" Beryl fiddled with the ends of her vest, twisting them about her fingers as she walked. "Could it have been this ring?" She feared Gandalf was not taking her concerns very seriously. It worried her. Gandalf was never this complacent.

"That is a question to which I'm not sure there is an answer." Gandalf's eyes were thoughtful as he once again scanned the horizon for Beorn. "Simply because there are so many possibilities. Even could we ask Gollum, I doubt we could trust any answer he gave. He could be something twisted into being by Sauron, or by the pollution he left behind when he was vanquished. He could have become that way by a curse laid on him, or simply by his own nature asserting itself over time. I doubt any magic ring left in Middle Earth could be responsible for his condition, Beryl. However, if it truly worries you, simply refrain from using it." Gandalf looked down, meeting Beryl's sulky expression with one of gentle humor.

"I'm torn. I don't want to throw away a useful item, one that could very well be the difference between this quest ending in triumph or tears. At the same time, I'm worried I'm endangering it if i keep an item capable of turning a plain Hobbit into what Gollum was." Beryl hoped Gandalf actually listened to her worries this time.

"Well, to the best of my knowledge, Beryl, it should be safe enough to use the ring for this quest. Even the powerful rings that created the Nazgul took time to work. In some cases it took decades to wear down their wills." Gandalf smiled and puffed contentedly on his pipe as the tension finally left Beryl's shoulders. "Does that help you make your decision in any way?"

Beryl took the ring back out of her pocket, and rolled it between her fingers as she considered her options. "Yes, I think it does, Gandalf. Thank you." She pocketed the ring, and concentrated on enjoying the evening air as she walked the bee pastures with Gandalf.

* * *

**Next chapter: Beorn's back!**

**Guest review replies:**

bubblegum13 chapter 35 . Jul 23

wow! this is fantastic! keep up the good work!

~ So glad you're enjoying it! I'll do my best.

dearreader chapter 35 . Jul 23

Grizzly bears? No idea, really.

~Well, the secret's out now, I guess. What'dja think of it now? **As always, thanks for reviewing, because they help keep me motivated, and sometimes, give me idears to use. ;)**


	37. The Last Proposal

**A/N: In this chapter, we see the culmination of kkolmakov's master plan. It was she that had the idea the Dwarves would propose to Beryl one by one. I, not being dim, saw what a masterstroke it was and agreed. The rest is hilarious history.**

* * *

It took Beorn two more days to make it back to them, and he was in high spirits when he came. They woke to merry song in a familiar booming voice, and he went so far as to scoop Wren up and swing her around, laughing the entire time. "Killed the Great Goblin himself!" he crowed as he laid a jubilant kiss on her cheek. It took two more revolutions before he deigned to set her on her feet. Thorin laid a possessive arm around Wren's waist as soon as she touched down, drawing her back against him, which caused Beorn even further merriment. "Guarding your treasure, eh Dwarf King? Well, this time, you have it a'right. Anyone who can lay low the Great Goblin is well worth the guarding."

He then led the still sleepy eyed Company outside to display his souvenirs from the Misty Mountains. One was a goblin head on a spike, and the other was a warg pelt stretched between the trees to cure. Beryl was afraid she would disgrace everyone by losing her lunch, and saw a rather green Wren folding herself into Thorin's side. She noticed the warg's nose was burnt. She had to do an old breathing exercise to keep her composure.

"They didn't feel very chatty. I had to persuade them, but they eventually told me everything I wanted to know. Now, they'll convince the rest of that pestilence they want to stay in that cursed mountain of theirs." Beorn's rolling laughter did little to calm Beryl's stomach. She was only too glad when Beorn insisted they needed to go back into his Hall to celebrate properly.

An entertained Beorn set a fine table. An ecstatic Beorn set a marvelous feast. It was just as well Beryl's buttons were gone, because they would have burst at Beorn's table this day. Clotted cream and juicy pear spears, candied plums, grilled mushrooms, honey drizzled sweet bread and other delicacies Beryl couldn't find a proper name for passed across her plate and down her gullet with gusto. She was so full, she didn't want to move. Of course, that was the exact moment Beorn felt it proper to break out his chess game, which required Beryl to waddle as best she may outside.

His full sized, everyone-participates-as-pieces chessboard was marked out in the grass on the other side of the Hall away from his new gruesome prizes. The sheep served as pawns for both sides. His marvelous horses and dogs served as his court.

Sorting the other side, however, proved slightly problematic. Assigning the rooks to Dwalin and Gloin seemed natural, as was assigning the knights to Fili and Kili. Balin was a given as a bishop, but Oin, who would have been the other, couldn't hear well enough, so excused himself from the game. Dori took a little convincing to step into the spot. Wren had only to ask Thorin once, and he took the king's spot with a raised eyebrow and smirk for the healer. Beryl was laughing merrily on the sideline with the rest of the dwarves, until she heard Wren call her to the queen's square.

"Wait, what? No, that's your spot." Beryl started backing towards the house, hands held up in entreaty. Sensing merry mischief in the making, Bofur and Bombur each took an elbow, lifting poor Beryl clear off the ground.

"How, Beryl? I must stand here to see the board clearly." Wren gestured to the huge stump Beorn had for her, with wide crude steps cut in the side to allow her the same view he had of the board. Beryl heartily cursed Wren's calm demeanor and reasonable words under her breath. There seemed no rational way out, and she was borne inexorably towards the dread square there by one Thorin Oakenshield. Wren already seemed to harbor some odd ideas. She did not want to in any way encourage them.

"No no no no" Beryl chanted under her breath to everyone's amusement the entire way to the chessboard until the brothers Ur placed her gently next to Thorin on the board. Thankfully, he seemed to regard her placement and abashment with good humor, a rare smile gracing his face.

"Honorable healer, I believe all your pieces are in place, and it is your move." Thorin made the solemn pronouncement with a grand bow for his lady, and Wren returned it with a graceful curtsy from her stumpy perch. She then considered the chess battlefield before her, and ordered her knight Kili to the fore.

What followed was a comedic battle of wills and Dwarven hilarity. None of the Dwarves would allow Kili to live down his defeat at the hands of a black sheep. Beryl insisted on commandeering the pony she captured, so she could finally see the board as she traversed it. She was allowed, as she did actually ask the pony in question, and it bobbed its head. Petticoat seemed to enjoy the increased status from mere knight to Queen's mount. The greyhound sent to menace the castled king seemed reluctant, especially when faced with the Rook Dwalin. He frisked like a pup when a tap from Balin relieved him of his appointed task.

The mental game finally drew to a close when Beryl and Gloin cornered Beorn in an inescapable trap, and his laughter rolled as he admitted defeat to the Great Goblin slayer. Slaps, congratulations, and other jubilations rolled, but all that faded to silence as Beryl dismounted and turned to a sight certified to chill her blood cold. Thorin, grand, severe, grumpy, and supposedly-over-the-moon-for-Wren Thorin, was on bended knee before her. Beryl would have run, but there was a very solid pony behind her, and she didn't have a handy quarterstaff to knock Thorin cold and escape that way. She was stuck as firmly as a checkmated king. When Thorin took her hand gently in both of his, she was near apoplectic.

"Beryl," the bloody twit was using that baritone rumble in its most velvet tones. Even as horrified as she was, she could feel goosebumps forming from it. "It has been my great honor to have traveled with you thus far. I have been witness to your valor, your cleverness, and recipient of your generosity. I have learned your measure and have been awed by it. Would you do me the honor of... " Here a great heartrending outcry could be heard, as if the very heart of a young dwarf was being rent from his chest. Beryl was already shaking her head so hard her curls flung free in all directions, casting the defeated pins far and wide. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be real. He was supposed to love Wren, and propose to Wren! She nearly missed his closing words in her panic over her best friend's breaking heart. '...becoming my sister-son's wife?" She stopped herself so suddenly, she tilted a bit.

"What did you say?" Beryl was having a hard time keeping her feet. She felt maybe she'd misheard as well.

"Would you accept Fili's suit, even though the prat has not yet had wit enough to ask you?" Thorin's face was alight with mischief. She could now easily see where the prankster pair got theirs. Beryl allowed herself a moment to collect her own scattered wits, and regarded Thorin's high humor. He knew very well the scare he had just put her and his nephew through. Thorin regarded the discombobulated Beryl, and bellowed without losing her gaze. "Fili! Do you not think it time you spoke for yourself?"

From behind a wall of concerned Dwarves, Beryl's Blonde Scamp finally won free. His expression of unmitigated frustration met Thorin's cool smirk to no effect. "Spare me your outrages, young one. It would have been a year and a day before you'd have found your resolve to talk to her. Go. Walk with her, I'll expect to hear the resolution at supper." Thorin not unkindly pushed his nephew in Beryl's general direction. Her mind recovered, regarded her Scamp's discomfiture with some humor. She took his hesitant hand in hers, and headed for the relative peace of the Bee Pastures.

* * *

dearreader chapter 36 . Jul 27

Spiders coming? Hence the quote?

~Actually, I didn't think of that, and haven't had time to ask Katya. Maybe she did think of it. Nice catch. Makes the line even funnier. bwehehehee

LovesDragons chapter 36 . Jul 27

Wren is just wonderful.

Grow a pair and ask her Fili! Though I suppose I can't blame him for being nervous, what with almost everyone proposing already and she with a temper.

~well, guess what? Ta Da! And just wait, Wren may be more wonderful (or more devious) than you first thought. *hugs*

**Thanks to all my reviewers *hugs* Next chapter is under construction, prepare for fluff! Mirkwood! Spiders! and whatever else my imagination insists. Okay, may not get as far as spiders, but definitely Mirkwood.**


	38. Bees, Braids, and Bussing

**a/n: This chapter fought, dear readers, fought hard against being written. Apparently, Beryl wanted to keep this all to herself. Shame on her. Thank you for all the kind reviews last chapter. Hopefully, I did not forget anyone when replying. If i did, feel free to pm me.** **It was not by intent, I assure you. As I said, last chapter saw the culmination of ****kkolmakov'****s grand scheme. If you enjoyed her idea for my story, stop by her page and let her know. And now, the long awaited mushy scene:**

* * *

Beryl and Fili walked hand in hand in silence amongst the flowers. She was giving him time to collect himself, and she was using that time to let her heart rate settle before The Talk.

"He's wrong, you know. I was going to ask you myself after the quest was done, and I could promise a tomorrow beyond dragonfire." Beryl's head came up from the columbine she was admiring. Someone apparently felt he needed to clarify his intentions.

"Well, that's a silly idea, because what if there isn't an 'after the dragonfire?' Could you really send me into Smaug's lair without so much as a kiss?" The words were out, and Beryl couldn't even be sure she wanted to take them back. She held her breath as she waited for Fili's response.

What she didn't expect was to be spun around and crushed to that wall of an overheated chest, nor to meet searing blue eyes without a speck of humor. At this moment, his expression was more like his uncle's than any that normally graced his own face. His arms slowly slid up and around from her back until he cradled her face in his broad palms, studying her as if she held the secrets to the Universe in her eyes. She laid her hands over his, as she waited for him to speak. He then sank slowly to one knee before her, never relinquishing his gaze or gentle hold on her face.

"I was drawn to you the moment you shooed us out of your house. I was intrigued by your independence, and bowled over by your ingenuity. Every new thing I learned about you caused those feelings to grow, until I realized that I love you, completely, thoroughly, and eternally. Will you have me as your husband, Beryl?" His words had Beryl's heart beating like a triphammer. It was real. He did care. It was a good thing she was already somewhat leaning on him, because the sudden light headed feeling left her distrusting her own balance. Her tongue had tied itself into knots. "I promise you, I will never forsake you, I will put you first in all things, and I would be your rock against life's storms." His voice was almost cajoling now. Beryl still hadn't found her voice.

"Beryl? Will you have me?" A slight note of panic had seeped into Fili's voice, disturbing the usual baritone rumble. Beryl still hadn't quite recovered the power of speech, so began nodding somewhat frantically at him.

She didn't have to worry about words, because he was kissing her, or she was kissing him. Either way, she wasn't complaining. Fili slowly drew her onto his knee. That was fine, her legs had turned to rubber. Her hands were buried in his golden mane, and she was clinging for dear life.

Some time later, Fili's head rested in the crook of Beryl's shoulder, while he regained his composure. He cleared his throat, and kissed the creamy skin. "Shall I do your braids, now?" Fili's smile broadened as he felt her giggle against his neck. He was seated on the ground, with Beryl in his lap, pretty much right where they'd fallen during their kissing spree.

"So, I get a hairdresser as well as a husband?" She giggled as she turned, presenting her unruly curls for the taming. "A girl could get used to that sort of treatment."

"Your only hairdresser and husband." He grumbled, giving her goosebumps at the possessive growl. Beryl felt the unmistakable tugging of a comb pulling her wild brown curls into order. Where Fili had been hiding a comb, she'd no idea. Quite probably it shared a hidden pocket with one of the numerous daggers she'd seen disappear and reappear in his hands. She wasn't going to worry too hard about it. She could feel him caressing her curls as he sorted them into intricate braids. "I've wanted to do this for so long now. It's almost too much to believe I'm actually putting in our betrothal braids." His voice was soft and low. She could feel the hair not yet braided lift with each word, blowing in the light breeze his breath created.

"Does this mean i'll be able to return the favor, then?" Beryl leaned and tilted her head back to grin at Fili. He dropped a kiss on her nose.

"Mahal yes." He finished off the last braid with a flourish and an engraved silver clamp. He gave her the comb, caressing her fingers as he did. She smiled as she felt his work. He had braided the mass into a coronet on the back of her head, with the betrothal braids hanging free behind her ears. She felt the designs in the hanging braids. They felt very intricate, enough so she felt nonplussed about braiding them into his hair.

"You'll have to tell me how they go." She sing-songed at him as she stood and rounded his broad back. She wondered where to begin, given his hair was already braided better than the grandest matron in the Shire.

"My pleasure." Beryl followed his directions as best she could. Given the situation, Beryl expected her hands to shake as if palsied. Knowing him, even if they looked like the efforts of a cross-eyed five year old, he'd wear them with pride. She wanted them to be something he'd have good reason to be proud, besides the requisite 'coming from his own love's hands'. Careful strand by strand, she listened, verified, then looped, pulled tight, and eventually asked him for the silver clamps to hold the braids. She hoped the loops and whorls in the braid said 'property of Beryl Baggins" instead of something ridiculous like 'I have snails in my pockets."

She flipped the end of the newly made braid over his shoulder. He could at least see that much of it. Careful fingers felt of it, and she saw that delectable mustache braid swing in a familiar half smile. "It feels like you got them just right."

"Oh thank goodness." Now she felt all the nerves she didn't let herself feel while braiding. Then she realized what she hadn't said yet. She sat on the ground in front of him, grabbing that adorable head by both ears, holding him firmly. "I think I should tell you. I love you, too. I want to be your partner in all things, the one you seek when you need help, and the shoulder you lean upon when you need comfort. All the things you are to me, I want to be for you." She really should have expected the kiss. It was, after all, the perfect reply.

It was somewhere around round three of the kissing game when they both heard the careful cough. There, not twenty feet away, stood Balin. A teary smile on his face as he saw the new braids. 'We thought you might need reminding to come to dinner. I can see that all is well?" He chuckled at the matching blushes. He then turned a stern face to Fili. "You'll need to have a talk with Dwalin and myself. We are her guardians, and there'll be certain things we'll need to settle to satisfy both custom and Law," Balin couldn't maintain it for long, though. He sighed fondly at them. "but I think it can wait until after dinner."

bubblegum13 chapter 37 . Jul 30

Your doing awesome! I almost had a heart attack when Thorin began proposing. I thought you maybe mistook Beryl for Wren, or Thorin for Fili, then when I read. 'Becoming my sister-son's wife.' I let out a freaking wail of relief, that was very very clever. You get a pat on the back.

~Thank you, though save one for Kk, it was her idea. Though she left the handling of it all in my hands, the stinker.

Guest chapter 37 . Jul 30

What! Oh you... You... Ah! Forget Beryl! You almost gave ME a heart attack! *takes a moment to breath* okay better now. Wow! Seriously though, great chapter. Can't wait to here more.

~it was the good kind, right? Right? If not, I'm laying responsibility solely at kk's feet. Afterall, it WAS her idea.

LovesDragons chapter 37 . Jul 29

I am shocked and loving it. Round of applause to you. Wren was wonderful, could never have seen that coming.

~That Wren, she's a sneaky one, isn't she? Kudos for seeing the mastermind behind the proposal, btw.


	39. But I don't want to go to Mirkwood

**A/N: As you might guess, Beryl doesn't give two hoots for Mirkwood. Dreary, dull, nasty place that it is. Took nearly forever to get her to talk about it. Though she couldn't say enough about how awesome Fili was, or how dashing he looked while straining to pull that boat in. Silly Hobbit. Either all my guest reviewers got intimidated, or I'm so awesome, I encouraged them to sign in. Which is it, folks? Inquiring mind wants to know?**

* * *

Mirkwood was gloomy. There was no other word for it. No light worth mentioning filtered through the thick and oppressive canopy, and there was precious little life on the forest floor. Every once in a great while, they'd spot a black squirrel, but Beorn had been clear: eat and drink nothing but what they brought with them. Dark times had befallen the Greenwood, enough it's name had been changed to Mirkwood, and Beorn wouldn't let his precious ponies set so much as a hoof under the oppressive trees.

It had been a pleasant ride to the edge of Mirkwood. Fond memories of sunshine, meadowsweet on the afternoon breeze, and Fili's kisses had done what it could to hold the Mirkwood gloom at bay, but they were dwindling fast under the constant oppression that hung like a pall over everything in the shadowy wood. Fili, Thorin, Balin and Dwalin had a long discussion after their last dinner at Beorn's house. All parties involved left smiling and satisfied. Fili was still a little hesitant around Dwalin, and Beryl could only surmise that meant he'd received the usual 'hurt my lassie' speech. Even now Fili kept a careful distance between himself and Dwalin.

Beryl trudged along with the rest, her pack piled high with foodstuffs and water, trundling along as best she could following behind what looked like so many moving molehills. Fili had tried to take part of her share with his, but twin death glares from Beryl and Thorin disabused him of that notion. Beryl would carry her share like any of the rest of them, thank you. Fili was able to get a bit of his own back, when Thorin tried to lighten Wren's load, too. It fared as well as Fili's attempt. Wren was very adept at death glares.

The gloom alone was enough to take the life out of the party, but they also had to contend with a worry over the wizard. Earlier disappearances were easy enough to sort out: riding ahead to check the road, leading the orc pack away from Thorin and Wren, but this one defied all logic. Gandalf had taken one look at a defaced statue marking the safe passage, and had taken off like a scalded cat. The Dwarves didn't know what to think of it, neither did Beryl or Wren. All they could do was shoulder their packs and move along, shaking their heads at the vagaries of wizards.

They had also been warned, repeatedly, not to leave the path. Apparently, if they left the path, they'd not find it again. Keeping curious Kili on the straight and narrow was no mean feat. Thankfully, between all of them and his humongous pack, most of his tendency to wander was curbed. Beryl did not want to have to deal with Fili if Kili managed to get himself lost. The dreary march eventually even wore him down, and he trundled along behind his brother docilely.

Something new finally broke up the interminable hike through darkness; their path was now broken by a black had already been on the path for what felt like weeks, and their food and water, though they had been careful, were starting to run low. Everyone had taken in their belts on this Mirkwood march. It was so forbidding that drinking or filling their waterskins never crossed their minds. The only thing being discussed was how to get over it. Beryl peered as best she could through the gloom, and thought she saw a boat on the other side.

"Fili, have you a hook and rope? I think there's a boat on the other side!" Beryl stared so hard towards the other side, Wren had to tug the back of her trousers to keep her from falling in the inky water.

"A moment, yes, here it is." Fili had a long climber's hook fastened to a sturdy rope in an instant, and taking careful direction from Beryl, threw the rope across the fast running stream.

"That was close, Fili, a little more to the right, and that should land it right in the boat." Wren kept a firm grip on the hobbit, who was now leaning precariously over the stream to better view the other side.

Fili carefully drew back the hook and line, gauging carefully by Beryl's words and excitedly stabbing finger off into the darkness. He hefted the weighted rope, slung it in a fast whirling circle, and lofted it across the water once more.

"Bullseye!" crowed the now dancing Hobbit.

"We've still to pull it to this side, Beryl." Wren gently reminded her.

"I know, but now we can at least try!" It took considerable effort, but Beryl did not stick her tongue out. This was the first bit of luck, the first break in the monotony, and her man had delivered. She would by jolly take her glee where she could find it in this glum forest.

Fili's arms bulged as he pulled on the rope, but the stubborn boat would not budge. He pulled until the cords in his neck stood out, and finally Dwalin, Gloin, and Dori joined him, adding their strength to his. There was a resounding 'pop' from the other side. The straining Dwarves fell in a pile, and the boat came hurtling out of the darkness towards them. Wren and Beryl, still beside the stream, were able to catch the boat before it crashed.

"Look here, it had been tied off." Wren pointed out a quickly unraveling rope tied through a ring on the bow.

"Luckily our rope was the stronger." Thorin studied it. "It looks of a size to carry four of us at a time. It will take a few trips, but seems serviceable."

"But there's no oars. How will we get across, much less bring the boat back?" Kili stared at it, as if it'd tell them where the oars were hidden.

"Fili! think you could throw the rope across again?" Beryl was studying the other side, looking for a spot for him to aim.

"I suppose, why?" He was already coiling the length in his hands, readying the hook for another shot across the water.

"Buckleberry Ferry doesn't use oars or poles. It uses a rope stretched across the water. If you can lodge the hook securely over there, we can tie it off here."

"And then bring it with us on the last pass. Well done, lass. Well done." Thorin actually looked pleased at her suggestion. Beryl was caught by Thorin's rare praise. She really didn't know what to do with it, so only ducked her head at him, and busied herself finding a likely target for Fili's aim.

It took a few tries, but eventually they lodged the hook firmly enough it didn't tug free when pulled. Beryl did the honors on their side, using a locking knot that would easily pull free if done right, and only from a certain way. She showed it to Dwalin, making sure he understood the knack, since he'd be riding last with Bombur. Thorin appointed himself ferrymaster, and saw all the Company across in an orderly fashion. Everything was fine until the last pass.

Dwalin and Thorin were busy helping Bombur out of the boat, when the biggest, blackest stag Beryl ever laid eyes on burst right through the company, leaping the stream over the boat and Bombur's head. Quick as a flash, Kili had an arrow in the air. They all heard the steady beat of the stag's hooves falter, and then the heavy thump of a body falling. The cheering was cut short when Wren noticed Bombur sinking in the water.

"Bombur's fallen in! Help!" Quick as thought Fili had a rope in the air, which Bombur caught tight in his fist. Between them, Fili, Bifur, and Bofur had Bombur on dry land, but oh, he was fast asleep the moment they laid him out on the bank. Even in his sleep, the rope was stuck fast in his fist.

The only thought whirling in Beryl's head looking at the peacefully slumbering Dwarf was "how in Yavanna's name are we going to transport an unconscious Bombur in this inhospitable forest?"


	40. K-I-S-S-I-N-G

**A/N: I backed and forthed and seed and sawed about whether to put in the old feud between Thranduil and Thorin.**

**My biggest problem being, that it seemed to fit, and fit well. They were close enough, they had enough bad blood historically, and would go a far cry to explaining the slip shod suspicious treatment they got in the Woodland kingdom. Who in their right mind claims a solitary figure obviously starving to death for 'assaulting their feast' and locks them up for passing through their territory? If they were old rivals with old feuds, it makes more sense.**

**Otherwise, ol' Thrandypants just looks off his rocker.**

* * *

Wren eyed the sleeping Bombur, and then eyed the packs several of the Dwarves were wearing. "Are these not empty enough, we could condense the loads, and perhaps use some of the frames to make a carrier for Bombur? We could then drag him on it…" Wren's voice trailed off when several of the Dwarves turned to look at her. She shrugged. "I have seen it done, when companions were worried carrying an injured person would hurt them worse, or the injured was too heavy to lift."

Bofur laughed. "Nay lassie, it's just the idea we needed. Dunno why none of us thought of it. I can splice two of these together easily enough, and it should take old Bombur's weight right well."

Dori inspected the packs. "Sadly, packs are that light, two packs won't be missed at this point." Beryl was busy inspecting their surroundings. Was it possibly lighter on this side of the road? The woods around her felt more alive to her, less depressing. Whether the Dwarves realized it or not, they were already responding to the lightening gloom. They chattered and joked as packs were condensed and resorted. Bofur whittled, spliced and splinted two pack frames into a conveyance to drag the snoozing Bombur.

Thorin would not let anyone go after the fallen buck, not only had it fallen on the other side of the water, but well off the trail. It was he that discovered the second clue they were coming out of whatever pall hung over the forest. "Quiet! Listen!" All chatter died as they listened to a hunting horn in the distance. The jingle of harness and the baying of hounds sounded, growing closer as the Company all drew together with Bombur and the girls at its center. It wasn't until they drew of into the distance that they all breathed a sigh of relief.

"What, was that?" Asked Beryl.

"Elves." Growled Thorin. He stomped off from the group. Wren wasn't far behind him.

"Like Elrond? What's so bad about that?" Beryl was thoroughly flummoxed. Thorin had seemed fine with Elrond and the Elves of Imladris. He had even tolerated the light teasing of the drunken revellers they met upon their arrival.

'No lassie, not like Elrond. Beorn warned these were not of the same ilk as those that follow Elrond Half Elven. While Elrond's kin still hold some of the wisdom of ages past, these have grown as wild and wily as their woods." Balin explained. He cast a worried glance at Thorin, who seemed withdrawn into a dark mood. "There be other reasons we should avoid them if we can."

"In fact," Beryl didn't know if she cared for Thorin's fierce look. His brows were drawn low, his chin set more stubbornly than usual, and his eyes positively burned. "If we should be unlucky enough to meet up with them, you and Wren are to play as our prisoners. They'll treat you well enough, they like to think of themselves as noble, there is no need for you to share the dungeons with us."

"What? Why? No!" Beryl was beside herself and it took her a moment before she could even hear what the Dwarves had to say. Wren was already giving Thorin a speaking look, but he patted her hand while he explained himself to her softly. Whatever he said earned grudging acceptance.

"I don't like it, Balin. It feels dishonest and it feels like I'm betraying you all." Beryl was now sitting on a pack, while Bofur finished the Bombur frame.

"Lassie, we won't ask you to tell any tales, but let the Elves assume what they will. That ensures that we have someone of the company not locked up to get us free."

"Why are you so sure the Elves are going to lock you up? It sounds like you're just borrowing trouble."

"It's a long tale, lassie, and there's plenty to fault on both sides, but the biggest problem came with Smaug. Soon after Thror settled in the Lonely Mountain, Thranduil and he formed an alliance. Thranduil did not answer the call when Smaug attacked. He offered no aid nor shelter, and Thorin will not forgive him for it."

"So, he's not expecting a warm reception." Beryl still wasn't happy, but she was starting to see the sense in it. "So, we run afoul of the Elves, Wren and I let them assume we're with you against our will, and it is up to us to find you a way out of their dungeons, short of playing nice with them."

"Thorin will play nice with an Elf of these woodlands, when Smaug gives up the treasure gracefully." Balin pursed his lips in such a sour manner, Beorn could have used it to curdle milk into cheese. Beryl was able to suppress most of a forbidding shudder, but Balin saw and nodded in agreement. It would be best to get through the woods without drawing the attention of the Elves. It was Bofur that broke the brooding mood that had descended on everyone.

"Hup lads, rest time's over." Bofur signaled to his cousin, and they both rolled the sleeping Dwarf onto the makeshift stretcher, Bifur offering to take the first turn dragging Bombur along.

It was a week more of steady tromping, and though the light got brighter, and even a bit of a breeze picked up, still they had no sign of the forest's end, nor of food to extend their rations. It hadn't helped when the path became almost nothing but downhill, more than once, Bombur's makeshift bed almost ran over whomever was dragging it. Finally, Thorin's patience reached its end. "Is there no end to this cursed forest? Beryl, climb you this tree, and see what you can see from there."

'Um, you do remember it took help to get me in a tree last time?"

"You're also the only one with a hope to get high enough in a tree to possibly see the layout." Replied Thorin, A half grin peeped from his austere black beard. 'I'm also fairly sure you'd have help getting up the tree this time." Beryl turned around to see Fili already at the base of a massive beech, his hands laced for her dainty furred foot.

"I'm not getting out if this, am i?" murmured Beryl. Fili still heard her as soft as she muttered.

"Just think of it as alone time without prying chaperones." She had just long enough for his words to register and her eyes to widen before he lifted her into the tree. She yelped. The Dwarves below laughed, and she wished it were the season for beechnuts. Several Dwarves would have quickly regretted their hilarity at her expense.

Soon enough her Blonde Scamp joined her, and they had fun practically chasing each other up the tree, teasing and laughing as they went. In this manner, it did not take Beryl long to reach the slender branches that would not carry the doughty Dwarf's weight, and she scrambled as best she could up into bright sunshine for the first time in weeks.

She sat there stunned for what felt like hours, waiting for her eyes to adjust. A slight breeze played in her escaped curls, and Beryl smiled into it, drawing deep the first real breath of fresh air she'd enjoyed in quite a while. Once her vision cleared, she was astounded to discover magnificent black butterflies dancing around her. She marveled, until an impatient question from below her reminded her of the business at hand. She looked about her, and all she could see in any direction was trees. Neither a glimpse of Erebor or a shadow of the Misty mountains could she spy, just an endless green sea and the dancing butterflies. She was not looking forward to the trip back down.

"Beryl, what's the matter?" Fili wasted no time coddling her close once she was in reach.

"I couldn't even see the peak of Erebor, Fili, just trees in all directions, and these big black butterflies." Fili had to listen carefully. The words were having to escape the confines of his tunic they were mumbled against, given her head was solidly buried in the crook of his shoulder. It took him a moment to puzzle them out, and a moment more to puzzle their meaning. In the meantime, he found a stowaway resting on her braided coronet.

"I see you brought proof with you."

"What?" Her head came up enough, he could show her the butterfly he coaxed out of her hair. It earned him a smile and half a giggle.

"There's my girl. I'm afraid it may be Uncle's fault you can't see anything but trees." He gently blew the butterfly off his finger, sending it back to dance among the treetops with its kindred.

"What?" Beryl was beginning to feel like an owl's cousin. She only seemed capable of one word.

"Remember that long march downhill? We must have entered some sort of valley. It's the only explanation I can give neither Erebor nor the Misty Mountains would be visible. Mayhap we can try again once we climb out."

"Just how do you know so much about it, Dwarf boy?" Beryl was not feeling very charitable. She felt like she'd let them down by not finding anything. Luckily, her sunny beau was amused by her grumpy tone. He laughed and rubbed her back, still holding her close.

"i didn't just live in a mountain, but traveled them. I've seen enough to be fairly sure that's what's happened to us." He looked down at the top of her head, as something occurred to him. "After all, you couldn't see the Misty Mountains from Imladris, now, could you?" He felt her slow careful nod against his shoulder.

"Fine, but you get to explain it to His Grumpiness." Beryl was mumbling into his tunic again, amusing Fili even further.

"Ahoy the tree! Are you two ever coming down again?" That could only be Bofur, his timing as impeccable as always.

"There will be no Heirs of Durin conceived in a tree!" Oh, that indignant roar could only belong to Thorin, and it set the rest to laughing. No, it set one to singing.

"Fili and Beryl, Sitting in a tree!"

"Finish it at your peril, whittler!" Fili slid out of the tree, his dismount graceful enough to cause an Elf envy. They'd started down at a rapid pace with the first interruption, but they'd been near the crown to have their discussion. It was a truly magnificently gargantuan tree Thorin had found for Beryl to climb.

Bofur's new ditty would live on to plague young romances for ages to come.


	41. Welcome to my Parlour

**A/N: I am very sleep deprived right now, and so this file may be revised and edited a good little bit. Wren used with the lovely kkolmakov's permission.**

* * *

Despite the welcome levity Bofur engendered with his inappropriate ditty and the waking of Bombur a few days after the tree incident, things continued to grow grim for the Company. None of them had enjoyed proper rations for days, and Bombur's tale of his dream feast had them all wishing he'd fall back under enchantment. All it seemed to do was highlight how little they had. They were facing the very real possibility of death by starvation. It galled Thorin no end that this quest, meant to reclaim a home for the Longbeards, could end here in Wood Elf territory with none the wiser to their fate.

Ironic hope presented itself that very evening. Horns, horses, and merriment sounded nearby. The source was obviously off the path, but close enough they could see the lights. Bombur's jaw dropped at the sight. "By my beard, it's the feast from my dream!"

Thorin grasped his shoulder tightly, brows knit as he gave his full focused attention to Bombur. "Are you sure, Bombur?"

"Aye, I'm sure. 'Tis exactly like. I'd stake my share upon't." Bombur nodded emphatically.

"Tell us what you saw at this feast, not the food, but the people." It unsettled Bombur to be the center of Thorin's intensity, and he nodded so until Beryl feared he'd rattled his brains.

"There was a king. A tall elven king with a crown of autumn leaves and grain on his white hair at at the head of a host of elves, all dressed in forest colors. They made merry at table until the wee hours, when they danced under the stars in an open glade. That's all there was to it."

"A tall, white headed king, you say." Thorin looked nearly sick at Bombur's words.

"Thorin, you can't mean?" Balin was blinking suspiciously, his quiet words addressing Thorin with solemn dignity.

"What choice is there? Either we chance the Elves and they help us, or we die. Whether by starvation or Elvish weapons, the quest will end here. There is only one choice that offers a hope of its continuation. I'll have to approach this feast of theirs." Thorin said it like a man announcing his own death sentence. Thorin started for the feast by himself, and Wren grabbed his arm.

"You think you are going alone?" Her nose twitched in agitation, but her fierce glare didn't give a whit. Even so, Thorin met her gaze evenly, his eyes nearly lifeless as stone.

"I must." The words were cold and clipped.

"You must not! How are we to know what becomes of you? You told me yourself they would have no regard for you. They might listen to me. Let me go with you."

"And if I am wrong, Wren?"

"As you said, it is either a slow death by starvation, or a quicker death by their weapons. I will choose chance."

Thorin and Wren carefully approached the light and music in the softly falling twilight. Thorin had left his sword with Dwalin. It would do him little good to approach that many Elves armed, and might provide provocation. They stood for a moment in the deepening shadows, before taking that first step out into the glade together. An explosion of light blinded even the Company watching from the path.

Beryl's eyes were the first to clear, and she could see there was no gathering left in the glade. In the space of a breath, no table, no host, no horses, no music, and most importantly, no Thorin or Wren could be seen anywhere. All the Dwarves panicked, and hared off in different directions searching for their lost Companions. All night she could hear them, clamoring it seemed from every direction. First calling for Thorin, then calling Wren, and eventually, even each other as they realized they'd gotten lost in the greenwood. Beryl hunted for them until she could no longer move, and finally half curled, half collapsed in the hollow formed by an old oak's root. She kept her reinforced staff clasped tightly to her chest, and her mostly empty pack provided some shelter from the cooling night.

Hobbits have finely tuned startle reflexes. The moment Beryl felt something jerk and tug on her pack, her first reaction, flail, caught the most monstrously sized spider she'd ever beheld cleanly between the eyes with her staff. It curled up and died there on the spot. Beryl, fearing more spiders, slipped the ring she'd tried desperately to forget she had on her finger and went hunting her friends. She now worried they'd become spider food.

It took little time wandering the wood to run afoul of more of the creatures, and they all seemed headed to the same place. Beryl thought she caught sight of a familiar blue hood sticking out a suspiciously dwarf shaped cocoon, and Beryl followed it closely.

The spiders seemed to be congregating and heading all towards the same place. It horrified her when she started picking actual words out of the hisses, clicks, and clatters from their monstrous mandibles.

"Sssoooo lucky on thissss last hunt. The meat is fresh and kicking." This came from the spider carrying the blue hood. To prove its point, it poked its cargo with a spare leg, at which point muffled rage could be heard, and the whole thing wriggled and nearly jack knifed off its back.

"Fffst, so you say. It is not as juicy as i would have liked. They could all be cold meat by morning. Cold juice is not nearly as much fun as hot." Grumbled another.

"No, no, they are all like this, and one iss veeery juicy indeed!" At which point the spider swarmed up a massive cobwebbed tree, to poke at a very familiar, very large lump, hanging with ten other cocoons. Even as it poked and prodded Bombur, the cocoon on its back was hung on the limb next to it by another pair. Beryl had found Her Boys. Now it was time to do something about it.

There were too many right there to fight her way up to them, and it was sure that some of the spiders would go after the defenseless targets if she tried to take them all. They couldn't see her, that was her one advantage. Beryl's eyes darted around, looking for inspiration to help her. She spotted the nice large stones littering the floor of the spiders' copse. She grinned, and filled every pocket her trousers and vests had with the heavy palm sized stones. She carefully made her way to the far side of the cobwebbed hidey hole, and then let fly two river stones in rapid succession. Two fat spiders fell from the trees, making satisfying squishy noises as they hit bottom.

Old fat spider, sitting in a tree

Old Tom Noddy can't see me!

Attercop Attercop

spinning webs to wind me

Lazy lob Crazy cob

winding webs can't bind me!

Beryl's impromptu serenade certainly got the spiders moving! No spider liked being called lob or cob, and nobody cared for Old Tom Noddy. Soon a whole passel of frothing spiders were chasing Beryl's catcalls and insults further and further afield from the poor trussed dwarves. Once she'd felt she'd bought herself enough time, Beryl, still under the cover of the ring's invisibility, snuck her way back.

There in the tree, she found a spider that had hung back, and it was about to take a bite out of that cocoon with a blue hood. Faster than she thought she could, she clambered up the webbed tree, some of the spider's weavings thick as bridge cable, so that even a little thing like Beryl found it easy to climb.

Unfortunately, Beryl found a bit of webbing fresher than some of the other, and found it pulling along with her hand. What was fortunate, was the spider was so intent on its business, it never saw Beryl, or what she decided to do with the webbing once she got there.

Within minutes, Beryl was tearing through spider cocoon with her own little belt knife, and uncovered a very familiar braided mustache. Relieved to see him still breathing, she placed a quick kiss on his lips. That got him moving. Soon, he was sitting on the branch beside her, dizzy from spider venom, but fast recovering. Until he saw what was hanging below him.

"Beryl." The voice was calm, so Beryl kept busily cutting free a particularly Ori shaped cocoon. "Beryl, why is there a spider hanging upside down and hogtied from the tree?" Now there was a bit of tremor, but she couldn't tell if it were hysteria, or laughter.

"There's only twelve of you. I mean to know what they did with Thorin and Wren. I couldn't' do that with a dead one or free one, so had to catch one." Soon another dwarf was sitting on the branch, blearily taking in the swinging arachnid that was currently blistering the air around it with such words as even an Orc wouldn't use.

"You used its own webbing?" Now she could tell he was trying not to laugh.

"I couldn't reach the rope at the time." Dori now sat next to Ori, and the now weakly laughing Fili.

"I could use some help here!" Fili, being the most recovered, left off laughing to come help Beryl free Dwarves.


	42. Said the Woodelf to the Dwarf

A/N: I promise, this chapter is the absolute last mention of spiders in our fiction. Next chapter we're onto fun and games in the WoodElves' Stronghold. I'm not exactly sure where our differences will lead us, but I promise there is a Laketown and Lonely Mountain in their future. Now, Once more into the breach!

* * *

The Dwarves had precious little time to recover before the giant spiders descended upon them. Still hungry and woozy from the venom, Her Boys rallied in a grand way. It was a good thing there were plenty of rocks to choose from, because Dwail, Balin, Gloin and Fili all formed a protective perimeter around her. She couldn't swing her stick for fear of hitting one of her self appointed guardians.

However, her aim was as deadly as ever, and more than one spider crumpled to a well thrown rock. Bombur, with that two handed axe of his, was tearing through the spiders with a particular fury. In fact, even Dwalin took note of the fast and furious swath of destruction Bombur was cutting through their number. "Ho there, save a few for us!"

"I don't think.." Bombur ducked as a spider leapt for his head, catching it with a savage backswing as it landed. " that will be a problem, Dwalin. There's plenty for everybody!" Beryl lost sight of him for a moment in a flurry of spider, dwarf, Bifur's spear, and that nonsensical hat of Bofur's as they waded into the spider pile to save their kinsman. She had her own hands full for a while, as spiders tried attacking them from the trees.

The spiders came in wave after wave of soft-bodied, many legged horrors. Kili eventually ran out of arrows, and was reduced to using his backup weapons. Beryl began to wonder if she could lure them off again, but looking at the fierce battles waging around her, felt even her best catcall or war whoop would be lost in the confusion. Her arm was growing tired, but she couldn't stop. Already she'd clobbered three different sneak attacks on Her Boys. One that Ori never saw draw up behind him, one Nori couldn't because he was already busy fighting two spiders, and one behind Kili as he fired his last arrow. She would keep flinging missile after missile if it meant keeping them safe even if her arm fell off.

Luckily, the spiders quit first. "Flee! Fly! This meat is too fierce for us!" With much hissing and clacking of mandibles, the spiders withdrew, and the Dwarves finally won clear of the dreadful spiderwebbed copse.

They walked right into a waiting Elven guard. They were tired, sick with spider venom, and starving. Their leader was missing. Everyone stood looking warily at everyone else, and the tall blonde leader barked something Elvish without taking his eyes off the Dwarves who formed a protective huddle around Beryl. Several Elves peeled off to go inspect the copse they'd just left.

Fili, behind her, breathed a warning to Beryl in Khuzdul. She only caught half of it, enough to puzzle out 'Remember what we said." They meant her to go through with it. They wanted her to play prisoner! She raised her chin, even though Fili couldn't see it from behind her. She wasn't going to make any promises she wasn't sure she could keep.

Laughter from the copse startled everyone. Amidst peals of laughter, more of that rolling language she could make neither heads nor tails of tempted further Elves into the copse to see the spectacle that had them laughing. Finally, the tall blonde became impatient and had to see for himself.

He came back out, obviously fighting laughter himself. "Who is responsible for this?"

Welp, there it went, didn't it? She couldn't play captive if they knew she was the one that tied up the spider. She doubted any of the Dwarves could bring themselves to take credit for it, either. How would they get out of this one?

"Which part in particular would you be meaning, kind sir?" Bofur of the endless stories decided to try his luck. Beryl did not care to count the number of tales around the campfire he'd started but never got around to finishing because he'd let one thing remind him of another until he couldn't remember the point he'd been after originally.

"The part," replied the Elf in infinite patience, "where a great many spiders were slaughtered, and one left hogtied hanging from a tree." Again the elves around them indulged in boisterous laughter. Several that had not been into the copse traded places with those who had so they could see this little marvel for themselves.

"Well, that would be several different parts with several different answers, unless, of course, you think one of us mighty enough to do something like that all alone." Bofur rubbed the side of his head, as if thinking hard for an answer, then turned a devilish grin on the Elvish leader. "but then, if only one of us were capable of that, then you couldn't hold us here with just these few guards, so that can't be it."

If it hadn't been for the restraining hands on her shoulders, Beryl would have already had her say several times over, but thinking of what Her Boys were depending on her for, she held her tongue as best she might. Already she'd dubbed the leader of the squad "Long, Blonde, and Clueless," which would probably have her Fili, and the rest, rolling with laughter. She saw the Elf's countenance darken at Bofur's sly wit, and he barked something else in Elvish.

Elves moved to take their weapons from them. One found knife after knife hidden on Fili, and looked as if he'd be at it all day. Beryl could only roll her eyes when Kili and an Auburn haired elf traded snarky glances as she took his bow, empty quiver. and the two long knives he favored. Then the leader found Orcrist.

"How came you by this sword, Dwarf?" He all but snarled in Dwalin's face. Beryl moved forward, her mouth already open, but Balin's steady hand on her shoulder reminded her she had another part to play. She fumed silently.

"It was named Orcrist by Elrond Half-Elven, and given to our leader, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, in friendship. We've lost him in these woods, and were looking for him when the spiders found us." Balin's reasoned tone had soothed many a savage breast into seeing reason, but not this time. The Elf's nose flared in restrained fury, and for once, the language of the Woodelves sounded harsh as he barked a short order, and the whole Company found themselves marching to the Woodelves only knew where.

More than once, Beryl felt the curious eyes of Long, Blonde, and Clueless upon her, and everytime, she ducked her head and prayed he'd move along. Mostly she did this because she was worried about Fili. She did not like Fili's chances if he decided to play heroic for her honor's sake. Oh, she knew the Elf would go down, but she also knew she'd have a pincushion instead of a betrothed if he did.

"I find myself wondering how a small person like you wound up in the company of Dwarves, carrying a staff bearing Elven and Dwarven runes together." The question startled her, almost as much as them leaving her with her staff. It probably didn't hurt that she'd been leaning heavily on it. Well, actually, she'd been pulling against the restraining hands on her, but still. It had given the image she needed the stick to walk. She wasn't going to look gifts from Elves in the mouth too closely.

"If you're askin' what they mean, I couldn't tell you. The Boys fixed the stick up for me after a run-in with Trolls. The caps and centergrip were found in their lair." Beryl mumbled. She did not want to talk to him. The more she talked, the more likely she was to give something away. She knew it was important she remain loose so as to free her Boys if it came to it. She still worried over Thorin and Wren. Had they been taken by the Elves? Were they even know being eaten by spiders?

"It occurs to me, little one, that you bear a striking similarity to a description given me by our Honored Guest." He looked down at her with a suspicious curl to his lip. Was he laughing at her? "Would your name perhaps be Beryl Baggins?" He laughed at her open mouthed surprise all the way into their Cavernous Stronghold.


	43. Honoured Guest

**A/N: Yep, just who is that honored guest? You'll find out below. On with the show!**

* * *

Beryl noticed she was sent one way in the cavernous hold, and Her Boys sent the other. She started to say something, but a hushing look from Balin reminded her just what, exactly, was on the line. She swallowed her protests with what dignity she could muster, and followed the tall blonde Elf as gracefully as she could.

It was quite the walk for a half starved Hobbit, but she did her best to remember the way. She took in her surroundings as they walked. It was and it wasn't what she expected. After her stay in Rivendell, she expected graceful arches and airy architecture, and to some degree, that's what she saw. They were carved into the natural caverns and braced with living tree roots trained into decorative curlicues and other fantastical shapes. Somehow, it was fitting for these wild Elves around her.

She wondered what Her Boys would make of all this, and wondered if they were being treated well. She slid a curious glance sideways at her escort. Her personal jury was still out on what to expect from them. She wouldn't antagonize them, not yet, not until she had cause. Let her find Her Boys mistreated, and she'd drop this entire place on their heads without a second thought.

Three hallways and five doors later, she was at her destination. The tall elf bowed Beryl into the room, and she was immediately enveloped in a fierce hug by none other than Wren. "Legolas, you found her! Oh, thank Maiar!" To say Beryl was speechless would have been an understatement. She allowed Wren to fuss over her and lead her to a comfy chair with cushions that nearly drowned her. She noticed she only did that until Legolas left the room, and then she fell into the chair next to Beryl with an audible whoosh. "I was beginning to think he would never leave."

"What?" Beryl got no further, apparently Wren was more than ready to talk about it.

"Thorin, as might be expected, was less than forthcoming while talking to the Elvenking. He is now being held in some room somewhere, I know not which one. The Elvenking will not let him go until he knows Thorin's goal, and Thorin trusts him with that knowledge not at all." Wren twisted her lip in an unhappy expression. "I cannot say I blame him, not with what he has told me about the Fall of Erebor, but I do not know what he expects me to do to help the situation! I played along as he asked, but so far, I have found nothing!"

"Well, apparently, they think i'm in whatever boat they decided you were in, since I'm in here with you. Maybe together we can discover something." Beryl patted Wren's back. Almost reluctantly, Beryl added "And maybe, a little later, i can do a little investigating using what I found."

Wren's nose twitched slightly. "Do you think that wise?"

"I don't know. We don't have a lot of options, and we have someplace to be by a certain time. Gandalf didn't seem to think it that dangerous, so maybe this is a case where the risks are outweighed by the need. How long have you two been here?"

"We were brought here the same day we approached the feast two days ago."

"And you've not found anything useful in that time? Yeah, I'd say the need is greater than the risks, then." Beryl was floored. Wren was resourceful and smart. The Elves must suspect something, else Wren would have known where Thorin was, when his meals were sent, and would probably have an exit strategy planned that would have left all the Elves wondering what had happened.

Both girls heads turned as a knock sounded on the door. Wren got up to answer it. "Good evening, Tauriel, what can we do for you?"

It was the redhead that had traded looks with Kili. "I have brought sustenance for the little one. " Wren moved aside to let her in, and the Elf brought a tray heavily laden with all sorts of dishes. Soft cheeses, fragrant breads, and a stew that had Beryl's mouth watering just from the scent alone crowded the tray. She tucked in with a will, which had the Elf smiling. Beryl managed to mumble out a 'Thank you' between bites, and the Elf giggled behind her hand.

Wren cocked an eyebrow at her for laughing at her friend. The Elf bowed politely. "Forgive me, but this is the not the first I've seen this scene played out." She shook her head sadly. "The Dwarves we brought in were just as hungry, but only some thought to offer thanks. One, I think, tried to flirt with me." Beryl snickered into her stew, causing both Tauriel and Wren to regard her.

"If it's who I'm thinking it is, you aren't mistaken." Beryl went back to her stew, leaving a flummoxed Elf to puzzle her words, and a curious Wren to wonder what she missed.

Tauriel recovered her aplomb and turned to go, then turned back as she remembered something. "I am sure after you've eaten, you'll want a bath?" She waited for the nod, which was comically eager. "The Lady Wren can show you where the bathing chambers are." Beryl's head came up from her stew, curiosity momentarily overshadowing her hunger.

"Bathing chambers?"

"The river runs right through our caverns. Bathing, cooking, and cleaning are much easier with it so close." The Elf bowed one last time and left.

"Who flirted with Tauriel, and when?" Wren reclaimed her seat near Beryl.

"Who would you expect to make eyes at a pretty Elf?" Beryl's eyes were closed as she savored her bread and cheese. It was a soft dill cheese, and blended well with the spices in the bread. Her tastebuds were momentarily transported, so she missed Wren's question, until Wren gently nudged her shoulder.

"Who? Bofur? Or was it Kili?" Wren's question had Beryl giggling again.

"Let's just say, Thorin now might have cause to worry that an heir of Durin was conceived in a tree." Both girls fell together and let the laughter take them for a moment.

Beryl finally finished her meal. The tray was truly decimated in fine fashion. There was hardly a crumb left to show it had ever carried food upon it. She set the tray on a side table, and gathered the things brought for her to change into after her bath. Wren led Beryl through the maze of corridors to the bathing chamber.

It was a showplace of Elven artistry. Tree roots were trained into stylized waves running around the entire chamber. A flue let fresh water into the tiled mosaic basin, and another drained the used water off. A tub with a stove under it allowed the bather to add hot water until satisfied. Beryl's jaw was hanging from all the fineries and fripperies. Even the best Hobbit hole in the Shire could not boast such fineries. She mixed the running waters until it was warm enough to sooth sore muscles, but not so hot to boil her skin off, added a scented oil that reminded her of the sweetshrub by her garden door back home, and sank into the water up to her chin.

She wasn't at all surprised when Wren sank into the water next to her. "Do you really think you will find anything of use tonight?"

"I can hope so. I hope to at least find where Thorin and the Boys are being held. Anything beyond that is bound to take some time." Beryl picked up a soap that matched the fragrant oil, and lathered up a washcloth, soaping herself to a fair thee well. There were weeks of Mirkwood dirt she had to scrub off her person, and she meant to clean herself up right now that she had a chance.

Strangely enough, Beryl felt confidant for the first time in weeks. She knew the problem, and had a notion of how to fix the problem. Even though the stakes were much higher than anything she'd ever dealt with back in the Shire, the current conundrum was something she felt capable of solving. Maybe she had grown and learned on this trip, or maybe she had been out of her depth so long that this seemed simple by comparison, and that alone spiked her confidence. Beryl allowed herself to relax into the water.

They were momentarily trapped, true, but they now knew Their Boys were safe and fed, and they had hope to get out of this particular jam. They had the prospect of watching Kili meander his own way through romance's tangle. Things were definitely looking up in Beryl's mind.


	44. Sneaks, Speaks, and Peeks

**A/N: Short chapter, and my apologies. Real life decided to rear its ugly head and wallop my family a good one. Chapters may be irregular for a bit.**

* * *

It was in the wee hours of the night and after Beryl had caught a catnap that she decided to go exploring. She slipped on the ring and ghosted out the door behind Wren. Wren was going to claim sleeplessness, and go for a walk in the courtyards to calm her nerves. This gave Beryl a way back into her room without the door being possibly spied opening and closing itself.

Beryl wandered aimlessly, she didn't really have any clue where to begin looking. Nobody would be bringing food to captives at this hour, so unless luck was with her, she might likely never find them.

"Ho, Bledynian, is it time already?" The speaker was one of Thranduil's guards. The shiny armor well and above what most of the Elves she'd seen in the hall wearing. He was addressing a less flamboyant Elf in more sensible leather armor with a merry face and long brown hair.

"And none too soon. Our latest guests are less than pleased with their current lodgings. Any more Dwarven ravings, and I'd be ready for a madman's restraints myself." He shook his head. "Medwynlan is already down there, but I've not seen Dulandel's relief." The High Guard laughed.

"Can you blame him? I'd be in no hurry if I've naught but loud Dwarven insults to look forward to for a full shift!" He chuckled at his own wit.

"Think you that reason enough to leave poor Dulandel down there for a double helping?" That sobered the laughing Guardsman. He regarded Bledynian with a considering mien.

"True. Do you know who was to replace him?" The Guardsman sighed when Bledynian shook his head in the negative. "Go find the Captain, tell her what is happening. I will go relieve Dulandel myself, and this recalcitrant guard can answer to me for my time amongst the Dwarves."

"Aye, and make him pay with the _good_ Mayberry wine!" Both guards laughed as they headed their separate ways. Beryl followed the fancy one, sure she was about to learn where Her Boys were.

She heard them, long before she saw them. She could only guess the relieved guard hastening away with all possible speed was the poor put upon Dulandel, and the other enduring the best of Bofur's japing was Medwynlan. Every once in a while, Dwalin would add to the cacophony with a long stream of Khuzdul she could only imagine was insult that she swore left a blue tint in the air. She was rather impressed with his lung capacity. Now how to let them know she was here, without alerting the guards? Beryl looked around her for some inspiration.

The guardsmen had a nook with a table, obviously for taking their midshift meal. The cells ran the length of the corridor on both sides, ending in a dark tunnel she assumed continued on down to the lower levels. She decided to go inspect. It led to lower storage rooms which, if the dusty and cobwebby contents were anything to go by, hadn't been disturbed in a while. She decided here would be a good place to start her disturbance. The guards would be duty bound to inspect, and maybe that would give her long enough to let them know she and Wren were safe for the moment.

Beryl saw a shelf whose support looked to be just barely holding it up. She gave it a sharp nudge, and cleared out as an avalanche of storage crates, urns, and various miscellany cascaded down in a seemingly neverending avalanching cacophony. She slipped past the guards as they ran into the storage rooms, searching for the intruder.

"Psst! I'm here!" Beryl whispered as close to the bars as she could get. Fili was there in a trice.

"Beryl?" The hope in that one word made her heart give an odd sideways squeeze. How she'd missed her Blonde Scamp. She quickly covered his hand on the bars with her own. He gave it a reverent kiss, his mustache leaving goosebumps behind.

"Yes, I'm safe, and Wren's here, too. I just have to find where they're keeping Thorin." Her worried gaze drifted over him, taking in his appearance. He didn't seem any the worse for wear, and he no longer had that sunken look that goes with dehydration and near starvation. The Elves seemed to at least do that much for their captives. Since he wasn't wearing his customary traveling clothes and no longer smelled of the road, she could also assume they even saw fit to let them bathe.

"You're sure Thorin's here?" Those lovely blue eyes were all business now. Here indeedy was Durin's Heir. It made her miss their usual merry mischief.

"He came with Wren. I've found Wren, so, yes, Thorin must be here somewhere." Beryl reasoned. She reached through the bars to caress his cheek. He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, his jaw twitching. "You Boys could do me a favor, though."

"What do you need from us, Beryl? You know you have it." He was rubbing his face into her hand, now. He'd apparently missed her as much as she'd missed him. He still hadn't released the one hand on the bars.

"I need you Boys to settle down. I need to be able to visit you without having to think of distractions every single time I come. If you keep the guards riled up, they'll never start slacking, and that'll make it harder for me to visit." She watched as he thought through what she was telling him.

"That makes sense, but if we stop suddenly, that'll cause even more suspicions." She could already see him turning over possibilities. "I will tell the others, and it will be done. Perhaps by the end of the week, you will have your bored guards." He smiled his usual winking dimpled mischief at her, causing her belly to roll over in the most amazing somersaults. "But by all means, don't wait that long to come visit me again. I miss you."

"I miss you, too. I'll come when I can, as I can, and as soon as I find any news." She tugged a braid until his face was close enough she could peck his cheek through the bars, and he turned so she could reach his lips. They stayed leaned together through the bars as long as they dared, when he felt it necessary to warn her of the guards' return.

"They're coming back. You should probably go now." He could feel the invisible strands of her hair dance at his words, and he felt her sigh against his chest.

"I hear them. It's so very hard to leave you like this, though." That wasn't a whine. Beryl does not whine, ever. She learned a long time ago whining never helped.

"Maybe that will make you come back to me all the quicker, eh?" Someone was feeling better. She could feel the silver clamps in his mustache bobbing in her hair. He was smiling. She huffed into his chest.

"You really are impossible sometimes."

"Not impossible, only highly improbable." He dropped another kiss on her invisible curls. "Go, I'll still be here when you come back." She looked up to catch the lopsided grin. " It's not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon."

The guards were closer, their conversation getting louder as they made their way up the long, dark passageway from the storage rooms. Beryl impulsively dropped on more kiss on Fili's lips before making tracks back towards the courtyards and Wren, who wasn't alone.

There, walking beside her, was the Woodland King. Wren looked composed and polite, but Beryl knew enough of her tells to know she was uncomfortable in his presence. For his part, the Elvenking seemed completely at ease, and extremely attentive. Precisely what was going on here?

Beryl decided the only way she'd discover that would be to follow the two and listen.


	45. Mallorn and Malarkey

**A/N: Very sorry for the late update (but hey, it's still Thursday!). Life is slowly getting back to normal. However, I had the incomparable kkolmakov's help with this chapter (she provided a few ideas and all of Wren's dialog), so you get a longer than usual update! On with the show!**

* * *

Beryl tiptoed quietly closer. She must not have been as quiet as she thought, because Thranduil turned abruptly and scanned the shadows where she hid. Beryl couldn't help herself, she held her breath until he turned that scary beetle brow back to Wren. She didn't seem any happier with him staring at her, either, but she hid it well.

"Is there something wrong with your accommodations, that I find you out here, wandering aimlessly?" Beryl had to clear her ears out. Surely she didn't hear that right. Thrandypants actually sounded...nice. Her ears had to be playing tricks on her.

"I cannot seem to sleep, my lord," Wren answered softly, locking her hands behind her back. "Your forest is alive… There is so much energy running through its roots and branches, it is as if I hear whisper in my mind..."

"You can hear it?" Thranduil's pale eyes searched Wren as if looking for something specific. "How did one as attuned to the Living Wild as you come to be in the company of Dwarves?"

Beryl watched the Elvenking closely. His tone alone had thrown her before, now he seemed to be considering her friend with more than a king's eye. She had to admit, her Gingersnap looked inordinately fine in her borrowed finery. The elven maids must have had a field day arranging and braiding her hair, and the pale blue dress with golden embroidery made her pale skin glow as fine as moonlight. Thorin would be having conniptions.

"Life comes in all forms and manners, my lord." There was soft disapproval in the healer's soft lilting voice. "There is vitality in rocks and gems, and the Dwarves feel it. I do not prefer one life to another. All are sacred."

Thranduil hummed noncommittally, seemingly lost in his thoughts while his eyes strayed to Wren's long neck revealed by a thoughtless tuck of a braid behind her ear. Beryl had a hard time not smacking her own forehead. Now she got it. The Elvenking was smitten. This just got infinitely more interesting.

"So, have you felt this 'vitality of stone' yourself? Or are you taking the word of your, hmmm, captors?" Something in the twist of his lip as he said the last gave lie to the word. "He did seem extremely unwilling to part with you."

"The Khazad," Wren purposefully drew out the word in the Dwarven language, "carry the spirit of their mountain with them. They are noble people. I assume King Thorin did not know your intentions towards myself and him..." The healer's voice did not even waver around her betrothed name, and Beryl gave her a silent huzzah for keeping her composure. "I have to say I do not share his mistrust towards your people, my lord." A small smile flitted across Wren's red mouth, and the look of hope on Thranduil's face made Beryl's stomach turn over. Wren really had no clue how adorable she looked when she smiled.

"No indeed. He is constantly mistaking our aims and intentions." Thranduil stopped in front of a small planter left with the soil bare. "Come look, this is something none outside the Woodland Realm have ever witnessed. I think you might appreciate it." Wren all but floated across the space. Looking around his elbow at the young sapling he indicated with a graceful wave of a long hand. The two were grace in motion, and once again Beryl was struck at just how elflike her friend was. She itched to get her hands on a family tree of her friend, she was sure there was Fallowhide in there somewhere.

Thranduil lifted the young sapling free of its potting bag, untangling the roots for Wren to see the whole young plant.

"Maiar help me," the healer breathed out clasping her hands in front of her chest, "Is it?.. No, it can not be..." She stretched her small hand towards it and then jerked it back, her little fingers trembling. "One of the last Mellyrn..."

Those beetle brows rose nearly to his hairline, a pleased smile gracing that severe countenance, and no sight ever had Beryl ready to run for the hills more. "It is. Outside of Lothlorien, this is one of the few places they will sprout and thrive." With infinite gentle care, Thranduil finished the potting of the sapling, caressing a young leaf as he finished.

"It is so beautiful..." A transfixed Wren managed to breathe, and likewise, Thranduil seemed equally fascinated. Beryl was ready to beat her head against the nearest wall. Except, if Thranduil could be made to talk, now would be it. She wondered how she could alert her friend that HERE was a golden opportunity to find out where her erstwhile betrothed was. If she could pull her out of the spell that little sapling seemed to have woven around her. "I can just see it grow, its roots strong and deep, and join its brothers in the watch over your forest." Wren stepped away from the king and approached a wall formed by the trunk of a single giant birch. She leaned her back on it, looking so very small, lost, and waiflike. Thranduil did not ignore the silent invitation, and leaned elegantly next to her, offering to shelter her from whatever caused her such distress. "I envy trees… They always know where they belong and where their roots are. They seem to thrive in your woods. Is it the river underneath your halls that your tree friends drink their life from?"

Thranduil, with an indulgent smile, inclined his head to Wren. "Of course." His softened expression readable even from Beryl's hiding place. She wondered how Wren could be ignorant of her own charms, when the results were so very obvious.

Wren slightly turned and her little hand brushed at the rough bark of the birch. "Trees are marvelous. They are strong, but flexible..." The melodic voice dropped, almost to the purr, and the already pointy ears of Thrandypants as much as perked up. "Young and old at the same time, wise but kind..." Beryl started looking for a convenient pot to empty her poor abused stomach in, one should never be able to see a stark Elvenking mentally doing the happy dance over a pretty girl talking to and about him, as he obviously thought. Beryl could imagine the fits Thorin would be throwing were he to see this, but she knew right well where Wren's affections lay, and they were solidly with a short, dark, hirsute grumpy Dwarf king. Thrandy had no clue, but he was barking up the wrong mallorn.

"And still, with all the wonder they are, how do the trees of your magnificent forest all reach the waters of the river?" Wren leaned towards Thranduil, her large, oddly tilted eyes regarding him as she once again tucked an errant braid behind her ear. Thranduil's eyes followed the action almost reverently. Beryl began to wonder if Wren actually was that clueless to her own charms. That was way too practiced for a naif. Beryl thought maybe it was time for her and Wren to have another half of a half conversation.

"Channels run beneath most of my stronghold, all except the Treasury wing. They needed the extra stability for strength, and you'll find no trees there because of it. " Thranduil leaned back and sighed sadly. "A sad but true tradeoff. It is a very lifeless place because of it. No one goes there except as duty demands, including myself."

"The Treasury wing? Surely, you mean the Mirkwood Library," Wren sighed as if wistfully. "There are is no treasure greater than books. I cannot see you hoarding gems and gold there!" Wren regarded Thranduil through the veil of her batting lashes, and the Elf reeled, hook, line, and sinker.

Thranduil actually laughed aloud. "If only more treasured books so, you'd be right. Yet one cannot trade books for necessary items like pins, nails, and other ordinary things Humans take for granted. There are no forges or blacksmiths among the woodland elves." Thranduil, even as he lamented their lack of independence, was strangely proud of it as well. Beryl thought she'd never figure Elves out, well, at least Woodelves. Elrond's kin seemed relatively sane.

"I wonder, how long do you expect to play this game?" Thranduil, who only a moment ago was relaxed and indulgent, regarded Wren with an almost accusatory stare. Beryl slapped both hands over her mouth to hold back the squeal that threatened. She started to look about for possible missile weapons.

"Which game does my Lord have in mind?" Beryl's head snapped around at her friends light tone and silver bell laugh. How the heck? Wren was still leaning on her tree, smiling blissfully.

"I did not expect better from the Dwarves, but you? Did you really expect me to take you for the Dwarves' captives?"

"I did not," Wren answered merrily and waved her hand in the air dismissively. "I have to say Mistress Baggins and myself were just indulging them. They are quite a stubborn lot, and I just assumed you would not believe such nonsense in your wisdom. Unlike our Dwarven companions, I do not tend to underestimate the sharpness of a Sinda's mind." Wren was purring. Purring! Beryl sank boneless against the cool stone as she watched Thranduil melt into putty in Wren's hands. Without taking his eyes off Wren's, he picked her tiny hand up in his, and kissed the back of it languidly, letting it slowly slip free, as if he did not want to release it at all.

"And that is why they are welcome to enjoy my reluctant hospitality until they learn better." Wren laughed again, giving him a mischievous look from under her lashes.

"That is quite a cruel punishment, my lord." Her tone didn't carry disapproval though, and she brushed her palm to the silver sleeve of his bathrobe like garb. "And still, I understand you well. I do not appreciate being considered dim either."

"I would not have you think me cruel. There are other...considerations." For once, Thranduil did not dwell on her fluttering lashes, but hid his own gaze from her as he looked everywhere else but at her. Wren narrowed her eyes for a second, but when he finally brought his gaze back to hers, she was once again a picture of innocence.

"I do not doubt you, my lord," her voice slightly wavered and she dropped her eyes, as if in slight abashment. She didn't blush though, which told Beryl the maudlin bathos was as fake as a Sackville-Baggin's concern.

"I wonder if you do. Tell me, what have they told you of Erebor, Tithelleth?" Really? The Elf has known her a grand total of two days, and already he's nicknaming her 'tiny elf maiden?' This was getting serious.

"Not much," Wren lied through her teeth. "I do not think they trusted me much."

"Then know only that I hold them as much for their own good, as I do for the insult." Thranduil captured again one of her tiny hands in both of his, as if willing her to feel the truth in his words. Beryl was feeling nauseous again. Time to break up this little shindig. She at least had a signpost now for finding Thorin. Time to get the doozy daylights out of here.

Her desperate gaze fell on the fallen beechnuts near one of the courtyard's many trees. A wide evil grin plastered itself across her invisible features. Yep, there was their way out. Thrandy would be happy to let her go in a moment. With great care, she quietly grabbed the beechnut, and rolled it into place near Thranduil's feet. He was sure to step on it, and a grand fall from grace was sure to follow.

"I trust your judgement, my lord." Since when? Beryl could count on no fingers any time in her association with Wren where the healer was that compliant or docile to anyone, not scary Dwalin, not grumpy Thorin, and certainly not to Beryl. If Beryl hadn't seen and heard it herself, she'd never have believed it possible. With the beechnut in place, Beryl prayed her cricket call was believable enough to pass Thranduil inspection. Both heads turned to regard the empty corner Beryl just vacated.

"I believe I have taken enough of your time, my lord. I should repose now."

"Then I shall see you to your room." Thranduil started to gracefully pull himself away from the wall, but Beryl's well placed beechnut foiled him. The elegant king regarded his new perspective with some surprise, sitting awkwardly on the floor.

"You seem to require rest as well, my lord." Here was the real Wren, sarcastic, one brow cocked up, eyes twinkling, and the Elvenking's face dropped. "I will leave you to it." She nodded to him respectfully before whirling on her heel and sailing regally from the room.

"Maiar save us from these thick-skulled, puffed up creatures" The first words out of Wren's mouth as she threw herself on the bed lifted a weight from Beryl's shoulders she didn't even realize was there until it was gone.

"Elves?" Beryl flopped down next to her, trying her best to suppress the snickering grin that wanted to spread out on her face.

"Men." Wren packed a lot of exasperation in that one clipped word.

"So you were playing the whole time?" Beryl rolled so she could see her friend's face.

"Of course I did. and I do feel horrible of course, but Maiar help me have you seen his ridiculous clobber?"

The few elves given the job of watching the corridors late into the night wondered what could possibly cause that much laughter that late at night from such a tiny person.


	46. Hatching Plots

**A/N: Life is still entirely too interesting, but here's an update for you lovely people. Enjoy!**

* * *

It took three days to find the wing without a single tree, but after that, finding the Dwarf king was ridiculously easy. Thorin was not happy, and not quiet about it. She waited outside his door, marveling at the breadth and variety of Dwarvish insults, before politely knocking. It surprised him enough he paused. That was all she needed.

"Y'know, that would have been a whole lot more impressive, were there anyone besides me to hear it."

"Beryl! Is Wren safe? Is our Company safe? " That was His Grumpiness to a tee. Straight to business.

"Yes, Thorin, she's safe and well, so are the rest. Wren and I pretty much have the run of the place, though the Elvenking tumbled to the truth faster than you gave him credit. I'm taking precautions though." She heard a huff from the other side, as if he was dismissing the Elvenking, but she heard him move to the door at the mention of precautions. That must have caught his interest.

"The ring?"

"Aye, that ring." Beryl's mouth twitched. After her talk with Gandalf, Beryl saw no reason not to tell Her Boys. She felt that same tugging reluctance again, so, per usual Beryl logic, felt the only proper option was to leave absolutely nothing out about the ring. The Boys were surprisingly accepting of the whole thing, exhibiting the same sort of alarming calm when Gandalf heard the news. "The rest of the Company's being kept in the lower cells. I found them quicker than I found you. i've also found where our things are being kept. So far, the only thing I haven't found is our way out!"

"I have faith you and Wren will find something." His words, meant to be reassuring, were at complete odds with the almost vindictive glee in his voice. Just what was he expecting? Exploding them out of their cages?

"Well, as it stands, since these halls are so very empty, it'll be easy for me to bring Wrennie for a visit later tonight. I'll keep watch down the end of the corridor, so you two can talk together at least. "

"Thank you, Beryl Baggins. It would be appreciated." They were words Beryl never thought she'd hear in this lifetime, and a grin wrapped itself around her face to hear them, will she nil she, despite the still slightly begrudging tone. She heard him shift again, as if leaning on the door.

"I'm about to go check on the Boys, and let them know I found you. Anything you need me to tell them?"

"From here, Mistress Baggins? No, at the moment, we are solely in your and Wren's hands." It was one of those things that, while she'd known it, she hadn't really understood it, and to top off that confusion, there was Thorin laughing at her! Conflicting emotions of indignation and consternation dueled for supremacy, leaving her poor stomach a quivering wreck of a battlefield.

"Well then, I'll let them know you're found, and well, and that you can still swear a blue streak as well as Dwalin." Her impish tone, plus the promise of a visit from Wren had the desired effect. For the first time, honest laughter met her words.

"Yes, you may tell them that."

"Guess who I found." The afternoon guards were even easier to distract than the late guards. Mostly because, as she'd requested, Her Boys had toned down their antics, and the guards were glad for any distraction from the boredom. They would be slow returning. She had plenty of time to not only exchange news, but to visit, and tease a certain blonde scamp in singsong chant.

"Oh, let me guess. You found where Thranduil keeps his teddy bear." Someone else was feeling better, too.

"I found Thorin, cranky as ever, and off in a hall all his lonesome. I'm taking Wren to see him tonight." Her hand quickly joined with his there on the bar between them.

"That should help the cranky. Any leads on getting us out of here? We're running low on time."

"So far, nothing. I'm thoroughly flummoxed, and feel like I'm letting you all down." Beryl audibly thunked her head against the bars, so it wasn't hard at all for Fili to zero in and wrap arms around her through the bars, dropping a kiss on the top of her head in the process.

"You'll think of something, Beryl. I have faith in you." Fili drew back a little, as a guard, singing, meandered in, gave a sardonic salute to the dwarves, and promptly passed out at the guard's nook.

"What?"

"That happens quite often. Don't worry, he slept through all seventeen stanzas "I  
Saw a Silly Elf"...in common."

"Ouch." She narrowed her eyes. "You paraphrased that."

"I refuse to talk like that in front of a Lady."

"I believe it's safe to say nothing short of his trousers catching fire will wake him." Beryl squinched her eyes shut. Leave it to Dwalin, she so did not need that mental image. Unfortunately, it was there to stay...and it gave her an idea.

"Is it just the one that gets so drunk?" She asked.

"No, I've seen almost all of them come in here bladdered at one time or another. Depends on who gets access to the Mayberry wine, and who doesn't." Beryl tapped her fingers against her teeth as she considered Balin's words. This might be part of their answer. If she could just get the other parts lined up. She was distracted, though, by who she hadn't heard in a while.

"Is Kili sick?" Beryl leaned close to Fili, that wasn't hard, since he never quite relinquished his hold on her.

"Moping, that red haired elf" Fili sounded too much like a dismissive Thorin for Beryl's tastes.

"Tauriel." Beryl interrupted.

"Yes, that red haired Elf, Tauriel, hasn't been by lately." Fili was grumbling into her hair. While she enjoyed the way the words rumbled all the way down her spine, she didn't care for their dismissive content.

"Fili, I swear, I'm tempted to toss both you Dwarves and these Elves together in a closet until you learn to behave." That did it, that broke Fili's mood. He was laughing. Now there was rumbling she could really enjoy.

"Well, i can think of one Elf and Dwarf that might appreciate that." Chimed in Bofur, never one to be left out of a good ribbing.

"Shut your gob!" Poor Kili, his cheeks were redder than Wren's hair. Seeing one pair of eyes not making fun of his situation, Kili continued. "Besides, I knew she'd not be by today. They're getting ready for some big feast." Kili nodded towards the deeply snoring guard. "Supposedly, they're 'testing' the wine's good enough for serving at High Table."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Beryl pinched the bridge of her nose while fitting all the pieces together. "So, we're going to have a party here soon where every Elf in the Stronghold will be drunk?"

"Lassie, we've no way of knowing if this is typical of all the elves, or just the ones stuck guarding us." Balin gently reminded her.

"Hmmm," Beryl pondered, tapping her teeth in thought. "But so far, it's the most likely, and even if they don't all get drunk, surely enough of them will be off their guard we can get away?"

"Alright, but how and where?" Dwalin was all about the practicals. Unfortunately, Beryl hadn't worked that far out.

"Hey, give me a little time here. I've only just gotten this far!" Beryl decided that was as good a time as any to say her goodbyes. Every Dwarf down there was laughing at her. She kissed Fili goodbye, and made her escape before the one semi sober guard came to see what the ruckus was.

Beryl walked out of one mess, and right into another. Tauriel was in conference with the Elvenking.


	47. Of Casks and Kings

**A/N: I am certain now. This fanfiction is out to get me. Between site being down and this chapter just not cooperating, i must offer my heartfelt apologies for being late. Nevertheless. Here it is. I finally beat it into submission.**

* * *

"The kitchen staff report food preparations are well underway. Everything should be ready for Star Height's Feast." Tauriel stood at attention as she reported to the Elvenking, the picture of a proper Captain.

"They are sure everything will be in place in two days time? I seem to recall a similar promise for the last feast, yet the roast boar was undercooked." Icicles dripped from Thranduil's words, they were so cold and distant.

"Huelyna is certain the two elks, the covey of pheasants, and the rabbit bouillabaisse will be done to perfection and on time." Tauriel was effectively talking to that perfectly straight back of the Elvenking, who drifted across the floor inspecting the plants gracing the walkway.

"Very well, and the libations?" The voice was cool and distracted, as if the Elvenking had weightier matters on his mind. Beryl could tell Tauriel was nervous. She wondered why.

"A new shipment is expected in today from Laketown." Thranduil nodded absently at Tauriel's reply.

"Very well, you may go about your duties, then." Thranduil waved her off, and then peered closely at Beryl's corner, causing the Hobbit to hold her breath until he moved on. She had to sit there a while. So, there would be a party in two days time, and a new shipment of wine was expected today for it. Beryl made her way down to the wine cellars. There was currently squawking down there making it easy to find what she was seeking.

"And just where are we to put all these casks?" Frustrated did not begin to describe the distress in the nearly strangled sounding voice.

"Just send the empties down the river early, what's the harm?" The voice was light, lilting, and breezy. Beryl had a cousin with a voice like that, and she was forever pulling him out of scrapes.

"And if something happens to those barrels before the Lakemen can get to them, whose head do you think they'll collect in payment? Yours? No! It would be mine! No, I like my head where it is. It is quite happy here on my shoulders."

"I've no idea why, as little as you use it. What is going to happen to the barrels in one day? Just send them early, none will be the wiser, and you can quit squawking like a frazzled hen with too many chicks." Beryl crept closer to get a good view of the squabbling Elves. One was nonchalantly loading empty barrels on a chute, while the other was pacing and pulling his hair.

The frazzled elf tried to step in the loading elf's path. "Sirien, I am begging you. If something goes wrong, it won't be your neck, but mine!"

"Whyever not? Tell them I disobeyed. It is the truth. If you are so worried about punishment that I know won't come, then by all means blame me. I'm not afraid."

"You sound so reasonable, and yet, I must remember this is the elf that tried to raise a spider as a guard pet."

"It should have worked. Maybe if i had caught a younger spider…" Sirien cheerfully kept loading barrels, arguing happily with the other elf, and Beryl watched as she pulled a lever, sending the barrels rolling into the river below.

"There, all done. Now you can rearrange the current crop of supplies to your wee heart's content without being overcrowded." Sirien dusted her hands as if she'd accomplished a major feat, while the other elf stood there gawping.

"You better hope nothing comes of this.."

"I'm sure it won't. Besides, I had already asked the Steward if we could send them down early."

"...and you didn't tell me this to begin with because?"

"You're cute when you're frazzled." Sirien quickly planted a kiss on his cheek and sailed off into the supply rooms. "Now, where do you want these mushroom crates? Do they go on the upper shelves or in cool storage?"

Beryl left the two elves to their continued bickering as she watched the barrels bob and wheel in the current as they floated out of sight, ostensibly all the way to Laketown. This was apparently a common thing, and the barrels floated high in the water, even she knew that meant they were well sealed against leaking. Beryl made her way back to her room, still thinking of how she might use those barrels to help the Company escape.

Beryl opened the door to her room to find a nervously pacing Wren wearing a hole in the plush carpet by the bed. "Okay, what news has you in a lather?" Beryl braced herself.

"Beryl, I am torn. I feel terrible..." The healer wriggled her fingers. "I was invited by King Thranduil to accompany him to the high Table at the Feast..."

"Well, that certainly puts a crimp in plans. 'Cause I was thinkin' that may be the time to make our escape." Beryl shook her head, as the full import finally sunk past all the other thoughts flitting about her head. "He asked you to High Table? I wouldn't think Ol' Icybritches much cared for anyone." Beryl huffed and plopped down in a chair to think, chin on her fist.

Wren continued to pace and then threw beryl an agitated look. "Have you not seen the painting, Beryl?"

"No, I've been busy in the cellars and Holding Cells. I've not taken in much of the decor."

"In the dining room, above King Thranduil's chair..." Wren made another nervy circle around the room. "His late wife, the mother of Prince Legolas. There is a..." Wren hesitated and then threw Beryl a shy look. "A certain similarity in our looks. Minimal of course, she was after all a beautiful Elven lady, and not the twig of the girl of Men… But the shape of the face and the eyes… I have seen some of the courtiers throw me curious looks. The semblance is there."

"So, you think he likes you because you remind him of the one he lost." Beryl hazarded as a guess.

"Aye, and him inviting me as his guest at the Feast… You have seen how he spoke to me. As much as I want to escape from here and help our Dwarven friends, I feel terrible to play with the Elvenking's heart. "

Beryl sighed. "As I recall, you've not said a word to encourage him, have you?"

"Well, you saw me, Beryl. I had to find out where Thorin was. I still feel horrible..." Wren hid her face in her hands. "Do you know that Elves marry for love and are loyal through their lives?" the healer mumbled into her palms. "And he is immortal, for him the wound of losing her will be forever there."

Beryl couldn't stand it. She left her perch on the seat, and hugged her friend tight, soothing her shoulder. "It's not an easy situation, that's for sure. He is responsible for putting us in this situation, and while I'm sorry for his loss, neither of us are responsible for it, and shouldn't take a burden we can't bear anyhow. I can feel sympathy for him, but I'm not responsible for him, and neither are you."

Beryl slid a sideways gaze at her friend. Perhaps distraction might be a better help with Wren's worries. "Did you know, I told Thorin we'd be by to see him later this evening? Wouldn't it be nice if you could tell him we have an escape plan for two days time?"

Wren visibly perked up and even smiled a bit. "It certainly would be lovely. Will you help me get to him? I am worried for him. He out of all people would have trouble being captive."

"Oh no. Thorin does not care for it at all." Beryl's cheeks colored to remember Thorin's ranting. "Luckily, the halls are empty from here to there after two. We just have to be back in the room before morning patrols start.

"Only, let us not mention King Thranduil's predicament to Thorin," Wren spoke in a small voice. "I do not share some women's opinion that jealousy is beneficial for relationships." Wren sighed and pressed the tips of her fingers to her temples. "If only I did not look like the late Queen!" her voice rang in distress. "It would have been so much easier. He would have no interest in me, and the plan with the feast would be so much easier to fulfill."

"Oh, no, no mentioning to Thorin, I like breathing too much." Beryl pushed lightly on Wren's shoulder. "And what is this self doubt? Who said he only likes you for looking like the lost Queen? What could possibly draw an Elf to a graceful, intelligent, kind, and lovely person, I do wonder." Beryl quipped. She hugged Wren close. "Thorin fell in love with you, rather quickly and thoroughly, I might add, and he has no lost love issues. " Beryl's brow furrows while still hugging Wren. "But this sure puts a kink in our plans. So, you have to be at High Table, for how much of the feast?"

"I would assume for at least the first three courses." Wren shrugged.

"Well, we have to wait long enough for the Elves to get good and soused before making our move, anyways. This still might work." Wren still seems depressed and worried. Beryl decided to try and goad a little. "Too bad we can't make the wine work quicker." Beryl tapped her teeth in thought, still leaning against Wren.

"Actually, it would not be difficult. Add a pinch of valerian root with two pinches St. John's wort to their drink, and they will fall soundly asleep within the hour."

"Could we really do that? Do we have enough of the herbs available? I can probably get to all the casks easily enough. And…" Here Beryl gave Wren a very sly, very cat in the creamery pleased look. "you can tell Thorin what all we have planned when I take you to see him later tonight."

The girls plotted until time to meet Thorin. Planning to get the herbs, and get them into the casks in the right mixtures kept Wren preoccupied a little, but Beryl could see worry there in the pucker of her friend's brow. The problem called King Thranduil still bothered Wren.


	48. After Visitation Hours

**A/N: Short chapter, I know. I also apologize that so much of it is internal rumintion. However, it should please you to know that the next few are going to be action packed, right? Yes? Can I be forgiven, then? Tally Ho! Wren, as always belongs to kkolmakov. Many thanks for letting me borrow her. And again, if you've not checked out what all this woman has going on, WHY NOT? She even has a published book you can download, for crying out loud (and is working on a second) Go see!**

* * *

It wasn't hard to get Wren through the emptied halls to Thorin's lonely corner, they could hear him grousing from the end of the hall. Beryl tried her best not to snicker at the reason for Thorin's grumping. Apparently, somebody was antsy for his time with Wren. Beryl grinned. She couldn't wait to show them both the little surprise she had for them. She just hoped they'd both agree to what had to come after.

Beryl tried her best to stifle the giggles, but when Wren rolled her eyes and made a face at her, she could no longer contain herself. Hobbit giggles escaped, and alerted Thorin to their presence.

"Beryl, there is no one else in this cursed place that could possibly be. Have you brought Wren?"

"Promised you I would, didn't I? I even have a treat, if you can behave yourself."

"Beryl. What have you done?" It was scary, they both asked at the same time. Just what sort of reputation had she developed? Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well earn it proper.

"Only gotten the key. Don't worry, they get mislaid so often, they've more than one. I'd been watching the keykeeper all day. This is the spare for when he inevitably lays them down and forgets. I'll put it back when we're done." Thorin was strangely quiet on the other side of the door, and Wren was looking at her oddly.

"Beryl, what do you mean to do?" The question was softly spoken.

"Well, it's been how long since you two haven't even seen each other? I needed to know I could get the keys anyways, so, two objectives at once. I learned I could get the keys without raising a stink, and I can let you two visit proper like." Beryl suddenly felt like a fauntling caught misbehaving, but she hadn't done anything wrong, had she?

"Alright, I can see that. You realize that Thorin will not want to squander this chance to escape?"

"Yeah, I was hoping you could help him see he it'd make more sense to wait till we have all the Elves out cold the day after tomorrow. Right now, we'd have to leave behind too much, and I've still got to get the keys for Our Boys. Even if we managed to get Thorin clear, they'd still have them, and it'd be even harder getting them out afterwards." Beryl was shuffling her feet. Her, shuffling her feet! It must be some sort of magic. Even Gandalf had a harder time cowing her. Wren just looked at her that way, and here she was, ready to confess every sin she ever committed.

"Thorin, were you listening?" Beryl was never so glad to get out from under that catlike gaze.

"Aye."

"Are you going to give us trouble when it is time to leave?"

"Nay woman, I give you my word, now come here!" Thorin sounded grumpy enough he meant it. Beryl raised a questioning brow to Wren, who gave her a nod. Beryl unlocked the door, and two very eager arms wrapped themselves around Wren and pulled her back in with an audible eep!

Beryl closed the door gently behind them. She could already hear the kissing. She moved further down the hallway, and then further still when she could still hear them. She found herself at the end of the hall, watching the empty courtyard. Half of it had the typical tree trimmings, and the other half was strangely bare. She had almost cheered out loud when she'd stumbled on it the first time.

She sat down crosslegged, leaning her back against the corner of the hall and courtyard, ears pinned for any noise other than the two reunited lovebirds, and thought through the plan ahead. She'd located their gear early. Slipping away from feast would be easy, so would gathering their things in the cask room. In fact, she could probably start slowly moving things there to the empties tomorrow. With everyone preoccupied with the feast, she hadn't seen anyone check in on their gear. She also heard Sirien and Frazzled talking. No more casks were due down the river until after Feast. Frazzled had been worried they'd run out of room again, while Sirien remarked that empties could be kept in the storage room if it came to that. They weren't expecting any more shipments before Feast.

She'd have to try her luck getting to the wine casks tomorrow. Luckily, both Valerian and St. John's wort were common herbs. Beryl had shown Wren the dimensions of the casks, and she'd figured how big a dose each cask would need to be effective. Wren had been shown the herbal rooms during her time there, and she'd given Beryl directions. She'd pinch enough tomorrow and the day after for Wren to make up the sachets she'd put in the casks.

Beryl shifted her position. She wasn't a youngling anymore, and the stone was rough even on her backside. She mentally rehearsed what she'd have to do when, until it seemed she'd worn paths into her brain. It had to work: equipment into the casks tomorrow, herbs from the herb rooms, making sachets with Wren to put in the casks that night. Then comes the waiting, and gathering keys once the elves are properly soused, then leading them all to the cask room, loading them in, and then dumping them all in the river….only, how was she going to follow?

That was the one thing she hadn't figured out yet, and it was bothering her. Someone had to pull the lever to get them into the water. She hoped Wren and the rest were occupied enough they hadn't thought of it yet. Supposedly, even Frazzled and Sirien would be out like lights. She couldn't depend on them. No, she would have to find her own way out. That would be something she could look into tomorrow as well.

She was sitting there, still toying with different methods for her own escape, the most promising being a makeshift see saw with sand pouring on it to tilt the lever, when a rather tousled and dazed Wren tottered out of the dark hallway. Beryl checked the water clock in the courtyard fountain. It was nearing time for morning patrols. Beryl helped Wren back to their room, before donning her ring to return the key. The sleeping Elf in the room barely stirred as she laid the key back in its place.

She came back into the room to see a sleeping Wren, already tucked in and smiling. Beryl shook her head, amused and happy for her friend, and arranged a sleeping lump beside her that was roughly Hobbit shaped out of pillows. She trotted off to do all the things she needed to get done today.

It was shaping up to be a very busy day and night ahead of her. Somewhere in all that, she'd have to work in sleeping for herself. She couldn't afford mistakes this late in the game. Beryl trotted off to her first destination under the protection of the ring. The herb rooms were calling her, and then the equipment rooms, and somewhere in there, she meant to make time visiting with Fili. She idly wondered if Tauriel had come by since to visit with Kili. Perhaps she could make time to meddle there a little bit.


	49. A Wren between Kings

**A/N: Thanks to kkolmakov for her help with this chapter, and the use of her lovely Wren.**

* * *

It had been a whirlwind two days. Yet it would all end with her barreling (pun intended) down a swift running rapids strewn river staring into the dopiest grin to ever grace Fili's face.

It started with a flawless retrieval of the specified herbs from the drying rooms. Wren pointed out they were less likely to be missed from there since they were common sleep agents, and everyone involved would just assume they were taken for legitimate use. Wren, in the meantime, had taken another of Beryl's petticoats and sacrificed it for the cause, creating little squares to tie up the reagents so Beryl only had to drop in a tiny cloth bundle to perfectly dose the whole cask. Beryl thought it pure brilliance.

Even the retrieval and stashing of their gear went well. She managed to grab a few pieces throughout the day between fittings, hairstyling, napping, visiting The Boys, and dropping hints to a certain auburn haired elfette that a certain puppy-eyed Dwarf wouldn't mind a visit. That had been fun. She couldn't who colored more over it, Tauriel or Kili. It was a productive day. Beryl went to bed feeling justifiably tired and accomplished.

Day of the feast was, if anything, more chaotic. Elves were actually rushing aroud hurried and nervous. She was almost sure a troup of traveling jongleurs would have been ignored in all the fervor of last minute details. Beryl narrowly missed being stepped on three times while making her last minute additions to the barrel gear.

Finally, Beryl could put it off no longer, she needed to collect Orcrist before she was confined in her feasting gown. She wanted to wait on this as long as possible, because it was down in the vault wing, and she didn't want to give the Elves very long to notice it missing. She was making her way to the vaults when a very unusual occurrence pulled her towards Thorin's lonely room. Thranduil was down here.

"I thought you would like to know the very lovely healer, Wren of Enedwaith, would be accompanying me to the Feast of Star's Height as my Guest of Honour." The snide tone really did IcyBritches no favor. She could almost see the dark brow of the Dwarven King go up at his words with that smirk to accompany it.

"Now why would an Elvenking who has me trapped here feel the need to brag in such a manner? Are you trying to convince me of your success, or yourself?" Beryl silently echoed the Dwarf's sentiments. Someone was trying to hard to convince himself, and she had it from Wren's own lips, too.

"Perhaps I mean to do you a favor, save you from your own foolishness. Surely you've noticed she was meant for light and life, not dull stone halls?" Thranduil's words rolled smooth as silk and as deadly as snake venom. "Surely you've noticed one who carries the very fragrance of Lilacs on her skin and hair is meant for the green world, not some cold, lifeless vault?"

"And when did you find yourself close enough to be sniffing the healer like a dog in heat, caragu rukhs?" The words snarled out of the darkened room with a promise of violence only the very foolish, or very smug, could ignore.

"Such language. We had an extensive conversation about life and living things. She's quite knowledgeable, and I know she would be happier here in the Greenwood. Why else would the Valar bring her to my attention by gracing her with my wife's features?" Instead of the rage Thranduil expected, dark laughter met his words.

"Wren looks like your lost wife, and you think that marks her yours? You favor a horse's arse. I do not see you being thrown in the stables." Beryl quivered in her little corner. Thorin was mad, very, very mad. She thought maybe it was a good thing indeed a strong sturdy door separated Thranduil's throat from Thorin's thick, strong, and very capable fingers.

"Insult me to your heart's content, Dwarf king. We both know Wren is a treasure too dear for the likes of you. Here she would have comfort, ease, and the entirety of my race's affection. Can your Lonely Mountain offer her the same?" A cold reptilian smile crossed the thin lips of the Elvenking at the sudden quiet on the other side of the door. "Think on this King Under the Mountain to be. She loves you, but do you love her enough in return? Enough to keep the forge fires of a marriage lit when the cold stone and low regard of your people wear on her day by day? Can you bear to see her vibrancy wilt? Or are you king enough to release her and let Wren fly free? She loves you too much to tell you herself what she needs." As the silence continued, the cold smile spreads. "I wonder, how much of it is pity for your noble plight? She has the kindest heart I've seen in all my many years."

A cry of pure rage accompanied a crash loud as thunder as some furniture met its demise against the door, startling Thranduil back and away from it. He recovered quickly, but it was enough Beryl caught the momentary lapse. He dusted his finery, and left with that same wide smile.

Crashing and cursing continued for a while on the other side of that door. It hurt to hear it, especially knowing what she knew about the situation. However, there was little chance he'd listen to her or could even hear her in his current state. She shook her head and continued trying keys until one clicked, allowing her into the vaunted vault of the Greenwood King. She'd just have to hope Wren could make him see sense when she came to collect him.

Beryl tiptoed quietly through the crowded chambers full of gems and jewelry. For one that dismissed the smiths' arts, he collected more than his share of their masterworks. Beryl felt her respect for the Elvenking plummet lower, if that were possible. Thankfully, her soured mood was distracted by the newest display. There, against the wall on a velvet cushion, rested Orcrist. Beryl grabbed the sword and hurried out the room.

She approached her room just in time to see Thranduil collect Wren for the Feast. The spangled flittery finery Thranduil sported, and dressed Wren in defied all sense of good taste. There were even a few Elves who rolled their eyes at the outfits. While Thranduil may have been the Elf, it was Wren who looked truly graceful and gracious in the confectionary outfit. Beryl will admit the twinkling gems embroidered to the fluttering fabric brought out the creamy glow of her skin. Her red curls shone like burnished copper. Suddenly, Beryl felt downright plain and grubby in comparison, even in the deep green and gold dress she'd been rather proud of just moments ago. It was hardly fair.

"My Lady, the Feast of Star's Height awaits?" With a graceful bow Thranduil presented his arm to walk Wren down to the Feast

"It would be my pleasure, my lord." Wren laid a delicate hand atop the proffered arm, and Beryl would have sworn on her best broom the Elvenking grew in stature the moment she did. The head came up, the chest came out, and he bloody near floated down the hallway with Wren.

Beryl quickly ducked into their room, hiding the sword and diving into her own pretty feast dress. If she didn't show, surely someone would notice?


	50. From Clot to King

_**A/N:**_** Guess what I have here? It's a brand spanking new chapter, written by the one and only kkolmakov enjoy the Thowrenny goodness. If you want more, you know who's page to go lookin' for. ;)**

* * *

_**Written by kkolmakov**_

Wren as much as ran the passages of Mirkwood, clasping the key Beryl had given to her in her hand. Her heart was fluttering in her chest, and to her own surprise she realised it was in the anticipation of the adventure and not only in joy of the prospect of seeing the King. Wren had always considered herself a boring, prudent one, but a ride in barrels and a daring escape according to Beryl's genius plan was titillating. She as much as hopped over a threshold of the corridor leading into the vaults where the King of the Khazad was locked.

She followed Beryl's detailed instructions, and stepping over the legs of clearly unconscious guards she approached the door to Thorin's chamber.

It was dark inside, while the spot she stood on was brightly lit by torches. Wren quickly looked around, and dragging a crate from the nearest wall she climbed on it and and peeked inside between the heavy bars in a small window in the door. In the ink black darkness, she just could not seem to distinguish the familiar figure, and she squinted.

The King sat by the wall, on the floor, arms crossed on his knees, head dropped on them. She shortly wondered why he had not been given any furniture to sit on. Surely, the Elves could have been more civilised.

"Thorin!" she called, not trying to keep her voice down. She knew her herbs, the guards would not awaken. The dark figure of the King did not move. "Thorin!"

"Go away, Wren." His voice was hollow and broken, and Wren blinked several times before she could understand his words.

"Pardon me?"

"Go away. We have nothing to talk about. I have had the word with your Elf, I know of the truth."

"The truth?" Wren had nothing better to do than repeat his words. On the other hand, they were sort of in the middle of a daring escape. "Thorin, I am certain we can discuss it later, I brought the key!" She pushed her arm between the bars and shook the key in the air as if luring an animal with a treat.

The King lifted his face and gave her a heavy glare. At least, she thought he did. It was too dark inside his chamber to be certain of his expression.

He then heavily rose and walked up to the door. With the last step he finally was within the light streaming through the window Wren was dangling on, and she as much as jerked her arm back from him. He was not glaring heavily as she assumed before. His look was murderous. Jaws clenched, muscles dancing on them, brows gathered in a storm, he was radiating rage.

"Unlock the door for me, and return to your festivities then," he snarled through bared teeth, and Wren'd finally started gathering what was going on. She pulled the hand out and unnecessarily hid it behind her back.

"Thorin! What have you gotten in your head? Are you presuming I am enjoying my stay in Mirkwood?" The King gave her a grim stare and said nothing. "Thorin?"

"Open the cursed door already!" The King suddenly barked, and Wren narrowed her eyes at him.

"Not until you stop behaving like a brute! I have come to release you, and you would not even look at me!"

"I see no pleasure in looking at you! Especially with the Elven gilding in your hair!" the King as much as roared at her.

Indeed, she was in such a hurry to come and get him out that she had not changed out of the ridiculous dress she had to wear at the feast, and there was still an Elven coronet on her head. Wren suppressed a dire desire to jerk it off her head and throw it aside.

On the other hand, he had no right! What sort of possessive insanity was that?!

Wren exhaled through rounded lips, gathering her thoughts, and then she jumped off the crate and quickly unlocked the door. The King stepped out of the door. He was quite purposefully not looking at her. Wren was not quite sure what to do and just shifted between her feet.

The King exhaled loudly, squared his shoulders, and to Wren's utter shock, started walking away from her along the corridor. Silently. Without as much as a glance. Wren was not quite sure whether her jaw would reach the floor first, or the key that she imagined throwing after him would thump the majestic back of the royal head.

He was leaving. Quite clearly expecting her to stay behind. Without a word. Some sort of petrification came over Wren, and all she could do was to blink and take small breaths in.

Almost by the exit - and Wren still could not believe that he had reached it without as much as looking at her - he suddenly stopped, and she saw his shoulders tense.

"Will you be safe? You have helped us after all… Whatever his feelings are, he might not forgive you..." The Dwarven King sounded as if he had been snacking on wood chips for the last couple hours. Or yelling. To think of it, that might have been the explanation. Surely, he was yelling while crushing every piece of furniture in his chamber. Which had become clear when Wren had caught a sight of the debris on the floor.

Wren tilted her head and studied the tense back and fisted hands. He still had not turned around. Wren felt torn between indignation - that was plain rude after all, addressing her without facing her - and even more indignation. He was supposed to ask! Whom he believed more, her or the Elvenking?! Because clearly that was where all this rubbish was coming from.

Wren felt almost relieved. Whatever remorse she felt towards King Thranduil was now gone and forgotten of. What sort of poppycock had he poured into the Dwarven King's ears?!

"I doubt he'll be kind to me… He will surely understand I helped you. I might go back to this very chamber you have occupied." Wren shook her head in a fake mournful gesture. He couldn't see but theatrics were to be executed perfectly. "At least I hope it won't be a cell, it is so cold in those dungeons..." She dramatically sighed, and the King finally turned around. Slowly. His hands still fisted tightly. That would serve him right.

He was eyeing her suspiciously. He wasn't, after all, a dimwit. Still, his mistrust and animosity towards the Elvenking - clearly well-deserved considering the latest events - didn't allow him to fully discard the possibility that leaving Wren here wouldn't be the best option for her.

"Wren, stop this drollery." He gave her another of his infamous heavy glares. "Are you or are not going to be safe? In what capacity are you staying? Sure, he would not punish his..." The Dwarven King stumbled over his words, and Wren saw an anguished grimace run his features.

"His what?" she asked. She shortly wondered whether it was the sound of the King of the Khazad gritting his teeth that she had heard just now. Aye, definitely.

"His betrothed." Interesting. The Dwarven King was apparently capable of growling and spitting out words in disgust at the same time.

"Oh, we are not betrothed," Wren answered lightly, and his burning blue eyes flew up, to her face.

"What?! Surely, he is not that dishonest to..." the King once again trailed away. "He would not offer you to reside in his Halls without making your association valid through betrothal."

"Well, you see, my lord," Wren venomously drew out the moniker, "I happen to be already betrothed, and since polyandry is impossible in Arda, I would not be able to accept the proposal of the Elvenking, had he even considered it."

Three, two, one… Wren was waiting for the new knowledge to settle in that stubborn, giant, thick head of his.

"_Had_ he even considered it?" the King asked carefully, his eyes narrowed. And then he made a step towards her. It was small, given, but what mattered was its direction.

"Once again, my lord, you seem to be missing the point. It matters not what the Elvenking considered or felt or planned or asked. What matters is what I answered."

Was that another little step towards her? Aye, it was.

"And I wonder here," Wren feigned a pensive tone. "Who would be the best person to ask what I want and will do? Could it be Beryl Baggins? Or Balin? Or perhaps Gandalf the Grey?" There was another step after each name, and Wren followed his movements with her eyes. His eyes were roaming her face, obviously trying to determine her thoughts. "Hm..." Wren hummed pensively. "Or perhaps it is you. You definitely should know better what I want and what I should do. Who cares what I desire in actuality?" There were three steps left between them at this stage. "It is so much easier just to make assumptions and roar and rage and..."

"Do you want to leave Mirkwood with me, Wren?" the King interrupted her. She met his eyes, distressed and almost frantic. There were feverish red spots burning on his cheeks above the beard, and the lips were twisted in agitation.

"Of course I do, you clot!" Wren exclaimed, and he rushed to her while she leaped to him, and they embraced.

She had only an instant or two to enjoy their chaste but very emotional embrace, when the King shifted and grabbed her and pulled her in a heated and rather indecent kiss. Wren couldn't say she minded.

At some point he tangled his hands into her hair, ruining the do, but she could not say she objected to that either. And then the aforementioned coronet flew through the corridor and clanked somewhere, and still Wren felt whatever magic they were creating with their lips and hands was much more important.

She pushed away from him, gasping for air, her lips tingling.

"We need to hasten... We are in the middle of an escape!.." Her voice was breathy, and the King looked no less dazed.

"We are?" Apparently, his mental capacity was affected slightly more than hers.

"Aye! Beryl had prepared lovely barrels for us to escape in."

"Is there room for two in each of those barrels?" the King asked, and Wren blushed.

"Thorin..." she mumbled, and he pulled her in and to his lips again. The kiss was short - the King had clearly remembered himself now - but no less ardent.

"You are staying with me." He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm not letting you out of my sight anymore. Mahal knows, who else might decide to hoard you!"

"Thorin, that is nonsense..." Wren started but the King kissed her again, and then let go, grabbed her hand and started striding down the corridor, dragging her after him.

All Wren had left to do was to move her feet to keep up. Well, perhaps ogling him a bit was taking place as well. Now, that his irritating arrogance and annoying vanity were back, he was so enticing! Wren discreetly gave him an adoring look over and sighed. The prospect of the barrel ride had been exciting before. Now, she just could not wait!


	51. Barrels of Fun for Everyone

**A/N: The Great Escape continues. Hope it meets expectations. Wren appears courtesy of kkolmakov**

* * *

"Confess, you didn't expect this. We surprised you for a change." Smug Dwarves were entirely too insufferable. Beryl felt a deeply driven urge to smack Fili. Too bad her hands were fully occupied with keeping her from dashing her brains out on the swiftly tilting barrel sides. She now understood how cream felt being turned into butter. She curled her bottom lip up in a stubborn pout, and even that was cause for Fili to laugh. How did it get to this?

Wren's herbs worked as promised, and Elves started dropping off in a drunken stupor within an hour of Thranduil's benediction opening the feast. Beryl was sure the King succumbed not a moment too soon, because Wren had been staring very hard at the bouillabaisse before her more than a few times. It wasn't hard to surmise she envisioned the too attentive Elf dripping in it.

Nobody seemed to be paying the little Hobbit much attention, and she'd actually trotted off well before the last Elf nodded off to dreamland. She decided if she got caught, it would be better to be caught in her finery. She could make some party related excuse rather than explain why she was back in her 'dreadful' trousers and vest. She needn't have worried. Everywhere she went, Elves were either too drunk to notice her or already asleep. She sauntered openly into the keykeeper's room for Thorin's room key. She passed it off to Wren and went to collect Her Boys.

"Beryl Baggins, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Balin, with his cell right next to the door, was the first to spot her. His rising brows made her blush. She didn't look that different in the Elven dress, did she?

"Aye lass, I was beginning to forget what ye looked like." Bofur teased as she passed him. The teasing and compliments rolled over Beryl, she was nervously eyeing her blonde scamp, who seemed to have forgotten how to blink or breathe.

"Ready to get out of there?" Beryl had placed her hand on the bars, and Fili had immediately covered it with his much larger hand. He was always so warm, she could feel it all the way to her toes. Focus Beryl, it was time for the Great Mirkwood Escape. There'd be time enough to contemplate Fili's mad body temperature later.

"What are you wearing?" Beryl leaned against the bars as she laughed. It was the first time in two weeks he'd actually seen her, and the first question was about her dress? And of course, he took full advantage of her moment of hilarity to wrap those meaty Dwarven arms around her through the bars.

"Borrowed finery from some Elven child. Had to look respectable for the Feast, now, didn't I?" Beryl let herself be cuddled a moment longer, before pulling away to grab the keys off the guard snoozing in the nook. The guard didn't even mutter in his sleep.

The moment the Dwarves were released, Beryl was passed from one grateful hug to the next, barely a breath left in her by the time she was passed back to Fili. "Okay, okay, can the Hobbit draw a breath now? You Boys do remember we're supposed to be escaping? Besides, I have a surprise for you all!" That got their attention, and they trooped after her to the supply room and the 'empty' barrels that held their gear. She barely forestalled another 'passing of the Hobbit' by mentioning the Elves wouldn't stay drugged forever, and she needed to go change herself.

Beryl scampered quickly back to her room, swiftly ditching the borrowed finery and tugging on a pair of comfortable trousers. During the times she was under watch, she'd started fashioning herself more clothing suitable for the trials and tribulations of travel. She wondered if Dori would be pleased to know the Elves held the same regard for her trousers he did. Finally dressed and her hair pulled up and out of the way with a scrap of leftover petticoat, Beryl slid Orcrist out of its hidey hole, and padded back to the supply room, just in time to hear worried voices.

"Where is Beryl? Why isn't she here?" Thorin's voice was raspy sounding. She shouldn't be surprised. He had been shouting down the walls when she'd last heard him. Thank heavens he sounded more like himself. Wren must have been able to make him see sense when she got there.

"I don't know! She told us to wait for her here. She said she was going to change and come right back." Now why did Fili sound worried? It wasn't like she dawdled on the way. Time to reassure her antsy Dwarves..

"I thought you might like this back, so I detoured just a smidge to get it for you." The stunned look on Thorin's face was so very worth it, when she reverently laid the blade in his hands.

"Okay, most of your stuff is there in the barrels. I've watched them float out, they seem to seal quite well against the waters. We'll literally float all the way to Laketown."

"That's it?" The looks on the faces around her ranged from mild amusement to incredulity to swiftly lowering thunderclouds. She wondered why.

"Yes, 'that's it'. If you've a better idea, please enlighten me. I've worked my tail off to get this much of a plan together. This is, as far as I can tell, the safest, fastest, and best route out of here. If you'd rather continue visiting with the Elves, I'll be happy to lock you back in your cells. Though I've no idea when another opportunity would present itself." She'd concentrated her fierce glare on the most scowly face, which, oddly enough, was Fili.

"You misunderstand, Lass. It's a grand scheme as far as it goes, but who's closing the barrels?" Gloin grinned at her. "Ye didn't expect us to miss that bit, didje?"

"Well, I was, obviously." Beryl's hands were fisting in her tunic again. Prompting Thorin to raise that eyebrow.

"Obviously not. For that begged the question, how were you to make it to Laketown." Beryl spun around, and Thorin drew himself up, Orcrist in his hands, and his youngest nephew and Wren both laid calming hands over his. Tauriel stood in the doorway behind them. Nobody seemed surprised to see her but Thorin and Beryl.

"No, Thorin." The authority in Wren's voice warned there'd be dire consequences if someone didn't listen.

"She's the one closing the barrels and dumping us in the river." Offered Kili, almost at the same time.

Thorin's rage was a palpable thing in the room, but Wren faced it calmly. Tauriel hadn't moved from the door, and she looked to Beryl to be considering leaving and letting them all sort it out themselves.

"After their faithlessness at the fall of Erebor, after holding us here against our will for naught, how can you entertain even faintly putting our fates in this she elf's hands?" Beryl was impressed Thorin was able to grind those words past his tightly clenched jaw. The color on his cheeks blazed almost as brightly as the fever in his eyes.

"Do you mean to mistrust my loyalty again, Thorin?" Wren had an odd glint in her eye, and Thorin strangely went quiet and still, as if afraid to breathe. How Beryl wished to be a fly on the wall in that barrel. They were apparently going to have an interesting conversation all the way to Laketown. "Think carefully on your answer. Do I not like it, you will be stuffed in a barrel by yourself, and Bombur will sit on the lid until it is sealed against the river water."

"Do you not see, Wren? This could easily be a ploy to hold us hostage until the Elves awake, and seal us all away without hope to escape."

"So now it is my intelligence you mistrust, Thorin?" Wren's nose was twitching, and Thorin's jaw snapped shut so fast they heard his teeth meet, his head jerking as if struck. It seemed he had figured there was no way to make his case without somehow insulting Wren, and he was already in trouble. She watched him close his eyes, both hands wrapped tightly with Wren's, and he breathed audibly through his nose. When he opened them again, looking intently at Wren, the fever seemed gone and his voice was much calmer.

"Then tell me, Wren. How did you come to know this Elf well enough to trust our fates in her hands? I do not understand."

"It is she that has been making sure these past weeks that our Company has not suffered. She has spent time with myself and Beryl, simply for the sake of companionship, and there has been another consideration." Wren looked over at Kili, as of waiting.

Kili, who usually had the most to say in the most impish way possible, was strangely silent and hesitant under the combined stares of the whole Company. Even Tauriel was looking at him strangely. Kili cleared his throat

"Um, Uncle." Kili tried to smile at him, but it died a premature death under that calculating regard. He blurted all in a breath. "She's my One." Thorin was truly stunned. So stunned Dwalin had to help Wren, because his legs were no longer working. He was quickly lowered into a barrel with Wren, and the lid was sealed in place. The barrel remained strangely silent, and the Company went about its business getting loaded in the barrels.

"Are you going to be alright?" Beryl asked the Elf as she lowered her into the waiting arms of a Fili-in-a-barrel. He was grinning way too big. She'd have to fix that for him.

"No one will know I had a hand in it at all. For I will be at the tables fast asleep." Tauriel smiled. "Wren fixed some for me so that I will sleep no longer than the rest of them."

"If you're Kili's one, why are you staying?"

"I will see him again. If you are going where I believe you are going. Thranduil will follow." Tauriel turned a determined eye back to the Hobbit. "Do not misunderstand me, Beryl. I do love Kili, but he is not the only reason I do this. Thranduil sullies our honor by keeping prisoner those who have not wronged us. I am simply correcting a mistake, setting the account to rights. Until our paths cross again, little one, be well." The last sight Beryl had before the lid closed was her soft, benign smile.

So, now, Beryl had lots to think about as she tumbled in the water with Fili in a barrel, the rapids tossing them this and that way. Eventually, the ride evened out, and they were able to comfortably cuddle until a bump woke them up. They had landed in Laketown.


	52. Laketown Landing

Beryl had plenty of time to think at the gigantic party thrown for the 'Return of the Dwarves of Erebor.' Everybody seemed happy to see them, including some few hopefuls that expected the river to immediately start flowing gold. Everyone, except one very somber gentleman who eyed Beryl with curiosity and the Dwarves with suspicion, but even he wasn't enough to really occupy her thoughts for long. Not even the now not-talking-to-each-other Thorin and Wren could occupy the largest section of her thoughts for long. No, her thoughts were still tumbling as if in that barrel on the rapids still.

"Confess, you didn't expect this. We surprised you for a change." Fili's smug grin, and her inability to talk at the moment still rankled. They really had surprised her by pulling in Tauriel to help them. She had seen the interest between the elf maid and Kili, thinking perhaps their friendship would soothe relations between the two races. They were going to be neighbors, afterall. She didn't expect a full blown romance capable of turning the elf's loyalties. She also hadn't expected Thorin's reaction, though perhaps she ought to have, given what she had witnessed. Who knows what else had happened to Thorin when she wasn't there?

More importantly, more worrisomely, it had finally registered on Beryl she was betrothed to Thorin's heir. His. Heir. One day, hopefully in some long distant future, Fili would be expected to lead the Mountain. If she were still alive, then, she'd be expected to rule with him. That was another worry. If she were alive. If she took after Old Took, she could look forward to another hundred years, maybe. Fili was a young dwarf, and could look forward to two hundred more years, easily. What sort of lonely future was she tying him to? Here her thoughts became truly maudlin. She remembered Kili's voice declaring Tauriel his One. Fili had said no such to her, perhaps she was simply a passing fancy. The wine she had been enjoying became tasteless in her mouth. She honestly couldn't decide if that were a good thing or not. She decided to call it a night, and got up to leave.

"Now, I know something is wrong, when a Hobbit leaves her plate half full and the party still going. What's amiss?" Beryl was surprised, again. She expected all the Dwarves to be occupied with the party in their honor, but no, and it was Gloin, of all people.

"Would you believe it's because my mind is too full?" Beryl hedged. Gloin simply folded his arms over his chest, waiting. "I'll take that as a no. In all honesty, I don't know where to begin, and I think I'd really prefer to sleep on it, rather than trying to puzzle the whole thing out tonight."

Gloin's expression softened at that. "Alright, Lass, I ken ye don' want to talk about it right now, but remember that you do have people you can share the burden with. You don' have to solve the world's woes by yourself." Gloin patted her shoulder in a comforting manner as he passed her, headed back towards the tables.

Beryl dawdled along the boardwalk, taking in the breeze off the lake and watching the cloud spattered sky above. The moon was waxing and the wispy clouds glowed in its light. It went a long way to soothe her jumbled thoughts. She hadn't worked through anything yet, but at least now she felt she could. That was a victory in and of itself, of a sort. Too bad her hard won equanimity was about to be shattered.

"Do you know what's waiting for you in that mountain?" The question was quietly spoken, but it shattered the silence as completely as a clap of thunder. Beryl turned around to find the somber man from before behind her, casually leaning against one of the many pylons on the walkway.

"If you mean the fire breathing menace, then yes. I do, in fact, know a dragon is waiting for us up there. It has to be dealt with sooner or later." Beryl replied as calmly as her still galloping heart would allow her. How did she not hear his approach?

"All you will do is wake the dragon to wreak ruin upon us all. How can you go along with this? The Dwarves' desire I can understand clouding their judgement. What I cannot understand is how you, a stranger with no ties, got pulled into this folly. Was it the promise of treasure." He had approached her, almost like a stalking predator, until he was practically looming over her and staring with those scary intent eyes. She silently thanked Thorin and Dwalin for all the practice dealing with scary, looming men.

She laughed at him. She laughed until she had to sit there in the middle of the boardwalk. Strangely enough, he joined her when she weakly motioned for him to. His feet dangled so far over the side they nearly touched the water below. Once her laughter allowed her to draw breath, she answered him.

"There is not treasure enough in the world to draw a Hobbit out of her Hole, Mister?" She waited for him to supply a name.

"Bard, usually called the Bowman." He was studying her again, as if trying to puzzle her out. She wished him luck with it.

"Well, Bard the Bowman, allow me to instruct you on Hobbits. You apparently have met very few of us, if you thought a mountain of treasure was enough incentive to tweak a living dragon's nose." She settled herself, and watched him shift uncomfortably where he sat. This was a dynamic she was more familiar with, and knew very well how to handle.

"I have many reasons to be on this venture. Curiosity is one, seeing what's past my comfortable boundaries." She watched his careful nod. "Empathy was another. They've dreamed long of regaining their home. They're friends, family more like, and everyone deserves a home. None of that really matters to you, so consider this one, then: that dragon needs dealing with. Isn't it better to determine the when and how, rather than waiting for him to come out and catch you unawares?" She waited calmly, and patiently, for Bard's reply. She knew her arguments were sound, and that they had found their mark.

"I think it may be a good thing Hobbits are fond of their homes, if they are all as crafty as you." Bard leaned comfortably against the piling at his shoulder, his feet still freely swinging above the water. "What preparations would you suggest?"

"Well for one, I'd clear Laketown out. Move everyone under the cover of the trees. You may lose the town, if he wakes, but at least the people would be alive to rebuild. If he thinks he's destroyed the town and all in it, he'll have no reason to go looking further for vengeance."

"And why would he think that? Surely he will notice nobody running scared during his attack?"

"Because I'll make sure to go at night, he'll think he caught you all unawares. Though, it wouldn't hurt to have a backup plan. I'm all ears."

"It will take a day or two to gather what your Company needs for the trip to the Lonely Mountain. I will see what can be done in that time, though I'm afraid my credit is small with the Master of Laketown." He chuckled to see Beryl's shudder.

"I have seen dead toads more agreeable than that man. I think it stands you in good favor to be on the outs with him." Beryl did not expect the laughter or the pat on her shoulder following her words.

"Beryl?" Beryl and Bard both turned to see Fili standing a few feet away.

"Fili!" Beryl offered him a welcoming smile, but his narrowed gaze never left the human sitting so comfortably next to her. "Come join us, perhaps you have an idea or two to offer in case the dragon wakes?" Beryl patted the empty place next to her, but Bard was already drawing himself up to his impressive height, even for a human.

"I think enough plotting and thinking has been done tonight. I, for one, am for bed. I will call on you, Beryl Baggins, should anything more occur to me." Beryl nodded absently, still watching Fili. His hands had fisted as Bard passed him, barely giving him room enough to pass on the boardwalk.

"Fili?"

"Why were you sitting so cosily with him?"

"What?" Beryl shook her head. "I wasn't feeling well, and headed for our rooms. He met me on the way, asking me if i knew of the dragon waiting us in Erebor. Why are you acting so oddly?"

"What am i to think? My betrothed leaves me alone at the feast, and i find her cosily sitting off alone with another laughing!"

"You were jealous?" Beryl took a moment to run through everything. "You were jealous of someone whose name I only just learned? Fili, I don't know whether to be flattered, flustered, or furious with you." She drew herself up from her sitting position and wrapped comforting arms around her Dwarf, resting her head comfortably on his chest, some of her qualms quieted. She obviously mattered enough to invoke jealousy. Perhaps she'd been borrowing trouble?. "Shush ye, believe it or not, I was upset because of something you haven't told me."

She listened as his heart calmed its frantic pace and his arms drew her close, his head resting atop hers. She felt his next words as much as heard them. "And what have I forgotten to tell you?"

"Kili called Tauriel his One...I know what that means." She did not expect the laughter bubbling in his chest. She huffed at him.

"There's a reason for that, Beryl. You're not just my One. You're my Everything." She had no choice, she simply melted into his arms. They stayed that way a long while, watching the wispy white clouds float across the star strewn sky.


	53. From One Worry to the Next

**A/N: I swear, the closer to the end I get, the harder these chapters are to write. Apologies for the delay. Thank you all for the lovely reviews on last chapter. It was (until this chapter) the hardest I've had to write. This next chapter's even a bigger doozy, as it' the long awaited Half a half discussion. **

* * *

Despite the peaceful ending of the night before, the next day was a flurry of activity, starting with an anxious town meeting. Bard had apparently taken her words to heart, urging the town to evacuate, and the Master of Laketown was doing all in his power to downplay Bard's worries. Beryl wondered just how one person could be that colossally stupid. She finally had enough of their bickering.

"Are you truly that daft to the consequences, Master of Laketown?" Everyone gasped and quieted as she stepped forward, thumping her staff on the planks beneath her fuzzy feet. "Let's look at them, then, shall we?" Her bright stare took in all those around her. "Suppose we go, and find the dragon dead, or we manage our quest without disturbing his slumber. What happens? You have journeyed to the forest edge and back. That is all, your town will be here just as you left it, and no one gets hurt in the meantime.

"Now, suppose we go, and the dragon awakes? What then? Who lives in his shadow? Who would be the first to feel his wrath? I would rather see that fury vented on an empty town, than one full of people with no time left to run to safety."

"And you think the Elves will just allow us into their borders with open arms?" sneered the oily toad of a man. Honestly, Beryl wondered what possessed the people of Laketown to declare this man their leader. Someone like this wouldn't even be trusted to pull weeds in Hobbiton. She shrugged at him.

"Why not? They depend on you for trade. It would be very stupid to turn down allies that could wind up owing you valuable favors for a night or two under their trees. The cost to them is negligible, and possible rewards for succoring you better than good." Beryl was quickly cut off by the slimy insistent voice of the Laketown Master.

"Oh, that's all very well and good, speaking of what the Woodelves gain by giving us shelter. Your plan seems to benefit them more than us." There was a dangerous glitter in the Master's eye, but Beryl was still reeling from the amount of idiocy she just heard.

"Benefit them more? You must be joking, or do you really value your continued existence that little?" Beryl stood before the Master of Laketown, hands on her hips, staff cradled in the crook of her arm, and one fuzzy foot tapping as she regarded him with the same gimlet stare that cowered younglings from Hobbiton to Buckland. She held it long enough that the toad shifted uneasily on his ostentatious chair, and the crowd around began to titter.

"That is only if one scenario plays out. In the other, we will be left owing them for nothing." He sneered back.

"Oh fine, then. Should that happen, the Elves are welcome to recompense from my share. Can we please start moving people out of the town towards safety now?" The Master's eyes gleamed as if he'd won something, and Beryl wondered if she'd managed to step into some trap.

Though really, she felt her share of the treasure would be a very small price to pay if it saved even one of the children she'd met so far. She quite liked the ones she'd met so far in Laketown. In fact, she'd promised to ride herd on the children too young to help with the move while the townspeople packed. It wouldn't be the first time she'd sheparded littles.

She made her way through town using her staff like a shepherd's crook, gathering children as she went, and took them to a wooded area not far from the lakeshore. Rousing games of tag, red rover, and duck duck goose kept them busy and engaged until the daylight started waning. It was while she was helping a sweet girl named Tilda with her hair ribbons she noticed a familiar silhouette leaning comfortably against a pine.

"Daddy! Mistress Baggins braided my hair, isn't it beautiful?" Tilda's massive grin lit Bard's face up in a rare smile, even his eyes softened as he dutifully admired Tilda's new braids.

"Why am I not surprised this little firecracker belongs to you?" Beryl leaned tiredly on her staff, regarding Tilda now wrapped around one of Bard's long legs.

"Firecracker, eh? Did she behave for you?" Bard looked down at Tilda with mock severity, but she knew her father well, and that wide grin of hers never faltered.

"She behaved very well for me, gave me less trouble than most here, though I'm duly impressed with the general parenting here in Laketown." Beryl fondly tweaked one of Tilda's braids, making the little girl squeak. She looked up in time to catch an odd expression and a growing tension in Bard's casual stance. "Anything occurred to you since we talked, or are you just here to gather Tilda?"

"I've had an idea." Several adults had shown up to collect their children. Excited chatter filled the glade as parents heard all about the games played, stories heard, and excited finds as they roamed under the trees with a nature enthused Hobbit. Bard's low voice was hard to discern against that much background noise, but his solemn expression after the soft smile for Tilda told her it was one she probably wouldn't like.

"Alright, let's hear it." Beryl braced herself.

"Later, Mistress Baggins." Bard's mouth was a firm line, as he looked pointedly down at his daughter still clinging to his leggings. Now Beryl knew she wasn't going to like it.

"Alright, I'll meet you in the Leaky Dingy after the last child's sent home. You're buyin'." Beryl sent them off with Bard's laughter ringing in her ears.

Beryl sauntered into the tavern as the last trails of sunlight dropped into the first shadows of dusk. Bard was already at a corner table, broad shoulders propped against the meeting walls, and long legs folded comfortably one over the other and stretched under the table. She knew she was short and wouldn't need the legroom herself, but did he have to be so smug about it? Beryl hopped up in the waiting chair with a slight frown between her brows.

"Now, what idea has occurred to you that you're unwilling to share in front of young ears?" Bard took a long drink from his mug while he openly studied the halfling woman in front of him. Beryl took the time to order her own mug while she waited for him to choose his words. She got the feeling she was going to need it.

"I've asked for volunteers to stay behind in Laketown."

"What?" Bard cut Beryl's indignant screech off with a sharp and impateint wave of his hand.

"No, hear me out before caterwauling like a fishwife." Bard waited for Beryl to settle herself once again. "Your plan has merit, and will be a large part of why my idea will work, but neither one will work without the other. Some must stay behind to give the illusion of a town caught unawares."

"Bard, the whole point was to keep the dragon from barbecuing people!" Beryl hissed.

"I know that, so do my volunteers. It's one reason I had to start turning them away." She could see the satisfied smirk over his foaming mug.

"What is with you people?" Beryl sat back, thunderstruck.

"It's a matter of honor, at this point. You watch our children, worry over our safety, and are willing to put your share of treasure up as a guarantee against the Woodelves, even after having to escape from them in barrels. It wounded a lot of our men's honor that you'd do so much for a people you didn't know or owed fealty to. So, just enough of us will be staying behind to give truth to the ruse, and everyone of them has been given orders to head into the lake instead of trying to fight. It'll be believable enough in the cover of darkness."

"Bard, you can't stay behind! Who will take care of your children should something happen to you?"

"It's been arranged. If you like, consider this extra incentive to keep that dragon in the mountain when you go."

Beryl sat and brooded a while at the table even after had Bard left, and paid her tab. She really should have expected a man raised in a merchant town to drive a ruthless bargain. Now she had the added guilt of possibly orphaning some of the sweetest children she'd ever met. Tilda's wide grin and affectionate leg lock swam before her dazed eyes. She finally heaved a sigh and slid down from her chair, just in time to look over and catch sight of another worry. Beryl sighed. She wouldn't be seeing her bed anytime soon. There, wobbling in a chair against the back wall, sat a morose Wren cradling a child sized mug.


	54. Word from our Sponsors

I am so sorry there hasn't been an update. Life has decided to rise up in rebellion, and we've been fighting back as best we can. What I will try to promise is a regular update at the usual time Monday.

So finally we shall see

~just what has Wren drinking in the pub after swearing off

~what's waiting in the Mountain

~and what has that stinker Bolg been up to

Stay tuned, this is in the final approach, and I hope it lives up to expectations.


	55. Revelations and Frustrations

**A/N: Gasp! I'm not dead! And it's a new chapter! Things are slowly getting better all around. However, with hubby recovering from surgery, it leaves it to me to pick up the breadwinning slack. That means less time for fanfic'ing. However, I'm hoping to resume my schedule and my usual around 1500 word chapters. Yes, yes I know this one is on the short side, but really, would you rather meat, or filler? S'what I thought.**

**as always, Wren appears courtesy of kkolmakov and I own no Hobbity goodness, that's all Tolkien's.**

* * *

Beryl was dead on her fuzzy little feet. It had taken the better part of an hour and a half to sooth the savaged feelings of her mead muddled friend, Wren. It took another thirty to get someone to help pour Wren into a bed. How that woman's bones turned into water with just a touch of alcohol still boggled Beryl's mind.

However tired she was, she was also mad at herself and Thorin. She'd spent an evening feeling sorry for herself, when she at least had Fili's braids to remind her how serious he was. Wren hadn't even that reassurance. Before she would see her bed tonight, she was bound and determined to give Thorin a piece of her mind. If she could find the blasted Dwarf, that is.

She finally made her way to Laketown's forge. There, bent over a workbench, was Thorin. He seemed to be etching something small and delicate. Her curiosity was now at war with her anger. She made her way closer, it was the only way to settle both or either.

"What has you out this late, Beryl Baggins?" How did he know she was there? He hadn't even turned around yet.

"So much for the silent feet of Hobbits." Beryl huffed. It was supposedly her one claim to fame, and even that wasn't proof against Thorin.

"I saw you in the shield, there." He shrugged a shoulder at a round metal shield hung on a nearby beam, his attention never leaving the item in his hands. The quiet scritch of the etching tool the only sound for a moment.

"I saw Wren tonight, so sorrowful she tried to drown in a children's mug of mead." Her foot began tapping upon the boards. Thorin huffed.

"Beryl." Again the shoulders heaved, but this time with a bone deep sigh. He tried again. "Beryl, do you remember a certain conversation we had?"

"Yes?" She drew the one word out as she wondered where this was going.

"Given what you know, would you expect me to keep courting beads on my person?" He went back to his task, letting his words digest.

"So, you don't have any beads to braid her hair with? That's what's the matter?"

'I assure you, it **is** a problem, and one that I'm working diligently to remedy." His dry reply was almost enough to make her wince. Beryl silently moved to his side, peeping over his forearm, which he lowered so she could see what it was he worked upon.

"Oh my stars and garters." It was beautiful. Beryl hadn't seen the like. The bead was an oblong gold piece. Copper chased knotwork decorated the edges in minute detail, the strands weaving seamlessly in and out of each other. In the center of the bead, a wren could be seen alighting on an oak branch, complete with acorns and leaves. The detail was so fine, she could see the scaling on the acorn caps and the bright eye and feather detail on the wren. Thorin chuckled at her gape jawed awe.

"Thorin, it's beautiful!"

"When we lost Erebor, I knew I'd lost my chance. The rest of my life would be spent regaining what was lost to our people. There would be no room for a wife or child in the rebuilding, not for me. So I threw my courting beads into the River Running as we crossed."

"Thorin!"

"That I am only now replacing them proves how much of what I thought was true." His potent blue stare met her stubborn brown glare over his arm and courting bead. Beryl tapped his hand lightly.

"That you're replacing them at all tells you how much it was hogwash to begin with!" Beryl's hands found their usual perch on her hips as her foot started tapping again as she warmed to her subject. "And! If you'd kept them, your One wouldn't be laying in that tavern thinking she's just a momentary fancy, and one you're losing interest in, at that!"

"What?" The thunderstruck look on Thorin's face would have had Beryl absolutely howling with laughter if only she were less incensed. Perhaps once she settled for the night she'd indulge in one good laughing fit over it. No time for it now, though. Now she needed to press her advantage.

"Well, what is she supposed to think? Have you talked marriage? Have you told her she's your One? Even with Fili's braids, I had a moment of doubt, and here she hasn't even that solace!"

"She will know in the morning." As Thorin turned the small piece over in his hand, his shoulders again rose with a silent chuckle. " As will everyone else." He met her eyes again. "The trip up Erebor is not an easy one, as I remember it. Get what rest you can for the coming day."

What could Beryl say to that dismissal? She nodded, turned on her heel, and went to find what sleep she could before morning came.

* * *

"Beryl, Beryl love." Someone was shaking her blanket covered shoulder. The voice low and melodious. Beryl still wasn't impressed.

'Go 'way." It was unclear if the voice heard her, what with her head hidden under two pillows. But the chuckles shaking her bed seemed to indicate that yes, her words were heard.

They just weren't being heeded.

"Come love, I have a fresh and hot coffee here just for you." Beryl eyed the beaming blonde Dwarf with all the exhaustion in the world, but it did no good. He was still there, steaming mug in hand.

"Honey?" Her voice sounded worse than Hissycroaker's. The harshness of it made her wince.

"Yes? and yes, there is honey in it." Fili quickly amended when he got a good look at the deadly glare Beryl leveled at him as he handed her the steaming mug. She sipped her coffee, while he combed and braided her hair into some semblance of order.

"Mmm. Good stuff." Beryl's brain was waking up, something was buzzing in the back of her mind, wanting her attention. Some reason today was especially important.

"Thorin said we needed to hurry. Said you especially wouldn't want to miss it." Beryl leaned back into Fili, enjoying his hands in her hair while she drank her coffee.

"Well, then, I guess you better hurry up with that hair, there." She leaned back, grinning at him. The caffeine percolating through her system doing its job. He dropped a kiss on her nose.

"Very funny. I'm done. Up with you, get dressed and come down to the Leaky Dingy. Boat's waiting and everything."

"What?" Beryl wasn't that awake yet.

"Barge across the Long lake, ponies up the mountain. What's got you confused?" His amusement at her expense was getting old.

"Don't try to make me make sense before I've finished, you. It was a long night with short sleep." She clutched her mug tight, wishing it were full again. This was looking to be a two cup morning.

"Short sleep? you should be fine then." The lips twitched, the braids swayed, the dimples winked, and Beryl was still not amused.

"Out! I must dress in a hurry, per your say so, so out!" Beryl shooed the laughing Dwarf out of her room, and quickly changed. She finally remembered what was coming, and was fully looking forward to a company of pole axed Dwarves. The morning was suddenly promising to be much brighter than it had been a cup of coffee ago.

Beryl entertained the image all the way to the boardwalk in front of the Leaky Dingy, where a sight as far from what she'd imagine could be was playing out. A very bedraggled looking Wren, red faced and shaking was facing down a confused and angry King of the Longbeards. If the air of palpable tension in the air was anything to go by, she'd gotten there just in time.

"What in Yavanna's name are you people doing?" As everyone started yelling at once, Beryl realized her question probably wasn't the best way to handle the situation.


	56. Across the Lake

**AN: I can only offer my apologies for lagging so on updating. Life is slowly returning to normal, but it's still difficult to make time to write. Yes, I know where this story's going, and we're almost there! **

**I am going to try for regular updates on Monday. If Life settles down enough for it, I'll try to get back to the Monday and Thursday both schedule. I can dream, right? Wren used with kkolmakov's permission, as usual . *edited***

* * *

The hubbub didn't last long. In fact, it quelled rather quickly under the very intimidating glare of one Thorin Oakenshield. Beryl's attention quickly came away from the ecstatic Dori to the two very still figures in front of the Leaky Dinghy.

Beryl was arrested by the very gentle way Thorin folded Wren's fidgeting fingers into his own massive hands. Even talking as softly as he was, his baritone rumble floated effortlessly down to where she was surrounded by bubbly dwarves.

"Will you not accept my hand, my heart, and my kingdom?" Thorin searched Wren's flushed face with both brows raised...merciful heavens, it was a puppy pout face! Who knew Thorin even knew how to make a puppy pout?

"Of course, but could not the Dwarf I love ask me for my hand in marriage?" She leaned forward and whispered something in Thorin's ear, and Beryl could have sworn she saw an idea dawn on him, because his face cleared so suddenly. He nodded once to Wren, and turned back to the assembled dwarves.

"Now that tradition has been observed, we need those barges loaded. Dwalin, Balin, see it done while my betrothed and I discuss what must needs be discussed." Balin's face cleared almost as quickly as Thorin's had, and he heartily bustled everyone off, leaving Beryl with a fleeting glimpse over Bofur's shoulder of Thorin all but curling Wren under his arm to escort her back into the Leaky Dinghy.

Beryl was kept busy, very busy. The amount of supplies that had to be packed were mind boggling. Food and provender for fifteen plus the ponies were mind numbing. Beryl had the unenviable task of shifting supplies in the below decks, because of her smaller stature allowing her to fit in the more awkward spaces. Apparently, things had to be packed just so even on a squat and heavy barge, or they could capsize. By the time everything was stowed properly, she was ready to just throw everyone in barrels and let them float their way to the mountain.

Wren found her laying flat of her back on the boardwalk, spread eagled and groaning.

"Beryl, whatever are you doing?" Beryl tilted her head the bare minimum required to give Wren a proper evil glare.

"Fourteen packs arranged, then rearranged, and then rearranged again just so under the bow, and twenty more besides tucked eighteen different ways under the stern. That is what I've been doing. My back is in full rebellion, and I'm trying to quell any other parts from deserting by letting them rest."

"Spread eagle in the middle of the dock?"

"After all that, I'm proud I made it this far, and the boards are quite soothing, the water keeps them cool all day." Beryl looked about, making sure they were alone. "Now, tell me, is everything as it should be with you and Thorin? I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but if I need to teach a king a lesson, I need to know now."

Wren's free and easy laughter was the best answer Beryl could have dreamed. Her shoulders eased that little bit more, and watched as Thorin's betrothal beads in Wren's hair flashed like fire as they caught the sunlight. "All is well, Beryl. I promise."

"Oh good. I was worried after your little adventure into tipsy land last night."

Whatever Wren was going to offer as a rejoinder was drowned in the sound of Bofur's shrill whistle. "All aboard who's coming aboard! His Majesty's barge to destiny is about to depart!" Dwalin's thump was not unexpected, and Bofur almost managed to duck in time. His grin was all the wider as he helped Beryl and Wren aboard.

The crossing was proving to be unbearably monotonous. Long Lake was well named, the barge master promised them it'd be next morning before they reached the far shore. Between a bright moon expected that night and the current clear skies the bargemaster and crew were willing to continue through the night. In appreciation, the Company brought out their instruments to entertain them, including Thorin's treasured harp.

Beryl was sure that was in no small part due to Wren's endeavors. She sat close to Thorin as he played, her hands finding her betrothal beads again and again, as if reassuring herself they were there and real. Beryl knew the feeling well. She sat and clapped along, and even offered a Shire song when cajoled by Fili and Bofur. She fell asleep despite the looming mountain, and still uncertain as to how best to deal with the confusticating dragon.

"Ho, Lassie! Do ye mean to sleep the day away?" Beryl was in no mood for Gloin's high humor, even if he did bring coffee. She sat up gingerly, then realized the sound she heard wasn't her head pounding, but pony hooves clomping down the gangplank.

"We're there?" She carefully sipped from the steaming mug. Gloin had even sweetened it right.

"Aye, the Boys have all our gear off the boat, and are starting to load up the ponies. A day or two, and we should be in place to find the door in time for Durin's Day. Now we're only waiting on our favorite burglar." Beryl gave Gloin a sour look. She really didn't need the reminder.

"As far as I knew, I was your only burglar." Beryl rejoined, finishing her cup and setting it gently aside.

"All the more reason to treasure you, then." Beryl snorted, but grinned nonetheless at Gloin's gallantry.

"You've been taking lessons from Fili when I wasn't looking? I swear." Beryl accepted his hand up, his efforts to cheer her out of the nascent bad mood succeeding. Fili really must have been tutoring them in How to Wake your Hobbit.

"Believe it or not, that's a family trait ye have, lassie. I've been dealing with morning grouches longer than ye've been alive." Beryl didn't know what to think about this chuckling incarnation of Gloin. She was ready to pinch herself to see if she were awake.

"Explain your sunrise jolly disposition, then, if morning grumpiness is a family trait."

"Lassie, we're nearly home. Does a Dwarf need reason more than that to be happy?" By now, Gloin had her down by the ponies, with all hands busy loading and checking cinches to make sure everything was secure and ready to go.

'Oh, thanks Gloin! Ready? Good. Up you go!" With no more warning that that, her own sunny whirlwind had her up on a pony before she could even get a hello kiss.

"Fili!" She glared down at his laughing face from the pony's back.

"Never fear, you'll have plenty of time to fuss and fume at me on our way to Erebor."

"What?" He laughed harder at her surprise even as he pulled himself up behind her on the pony.

"You didn't think I'd pass up a chance to ride with my betrothed, did you? Not when limited barge space provided me with such an excellent reason for us to share?" A bright smile to match Fili's danced across Beryl's face.

"Wren's discovering she's riding with Thorin, isn't she?" Beryl asked as she turned and finally claimed her morning kiss. It was such a success, Fili came back for seconds. Beryl was only too happy to oblige. He finally deigned to answer.

"Naturally." They were halfway up the mountain path before Beryl quit snickering.


	57. Knock, Knock, Knocking on Erebor

**So sorry this is taking so long, Readers. Life continues to offer ups, downs, and loop de loops every time I think I finally find firm footing. Cest la Vie, I suppose. However, I have not forgotten, and have a new bit of Broom to share. I will finish this story. As always, Wren appears courtesy of kkolmakov. Enjoy!**

* * *

This last leg of the trip was disquietingly quiet. There were no heart tripping accidents, no ambushes, not even foul weather to slow them down. They had finally reached the area known as the Desolation of Smaug, and it lived up to its name. Barren ash fields and moldy stumps spread out before them in a wide grey waste where once grew thick forests and fertile fields, according to Thorin's hushed recollections.

What Beryl saw, though, was promise. There was a perfect spot for an orchard, boughs heavy with cherries and apples and pears. There a perfect sheltered nook for fragile blossoms heady with fragrance, there lay a good wide area for all sorts of vegetables and that spot over there was perfect for herbs and succulents. More than once she caught a Dwarf eyeing her with humor, and in this way the pall cast by the dragon's long shadow was defeated before it could hang heavy over the little company.

So it was in this light hearted mood the Company found itself making camp at an old outpost known as Raven Hill. From there, scouting parties went searching high and low for the path to the 'back door'. A week there with nothing to show for it caused tempers to fray in frustration. Wren, after studying the map again, persuaded Thorin to try the even more western spurs of Erebor. Finding green pasture for the ponies in a long narrow (and well hidden) valley perked up everyone's spirits, and the search renewed with vigor once more.

As luck would have it, Beryl found the way up using her head, quite literally. She had been sent out with Fili and Kili on one of the many forays. As was often the case, Kili would start teasing, and Beryl would reply in kind. She had turned around to face him, walking backwards, when her heel caught on a rock and sent her tumbling backwards.

It was, however, the perfect position and angle to see the cleverly cut pathway switchbacking up the mountain in a sheltered runnel. She whooped in joy, just before Fili could shush her.

"There, Fili, dishes for a week if it isn't the path we've been looking for!"

"Even I wouldn't take that bet." Responded Kili, nimbly clambering up the steps like a mountain goat. Beryl sat where she was, at the foot, nursing her goose-egged head, Fili keeping her company. It wasn't long before Kili returned.

"It's narrow all the way up, but it ends at a nice little grassy nook at the top facing a smooth flat wall as fine as any Dwarven mason ever crafted. I'm pretty sure we've found it."

"Is there enough room to make camp?" Asked Beryl, imagining the fun walking that narrow path everyday. She couldn't see Bombur making the trip.

"Enough room at the top for a proper camp for all of us, but we'd have to haul supplies up by ropes, I should think."

"Then I imagine it's past time we let Thorin know what we found." Beryl took Fili's proffered hand up and leaned on his arm all the way back to camp. She let Fili and Kili do all the talking, while letting Wren and Oin fret over her (again) knocked noggin.

"Keep this up, Lassie, and you'll be as addled as poor Bifur" Oin's words didn't exactly fill Beryl with joy.

"It's not like I'm trying to, either." Beryl grumbled back.

"Still, you could stand to be more careful." Did Wren really have to add to it? Yes, apparently she did, but Beryl could tell it was from concern, so she simply allowed them to tend her as they saw fit, and didn't complain too much.

The next day was full of bustling activity for everyone. The ponies and their things were definitely staying, as there wasn't enough fodder or space for them at the Back Door. Bombur was also staying. He trusted neither the narrow walkway nor the ropes to support and accommodate his girth. Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, Kili, and Nori all went ahead with all the ropes they could carry to set up the wench and pulley system they'd need to get what supplies and Dwarves were willing to move to the new campsite. Beryl, apparently, would be the first passenger on the contraption, against her protests.

"Honestly, it's just a little bump." She fussed, looking askance at Bofur's knots. She'd trust them more if she could make them, but since her arms couldn't bend that way, she had to leave it to Bofur.

"Look at it this way, lassie. If it doesn't support you, we'll know we need to fix it before trying again." Bofur offered as he carefully tied Beryl into the cradle lifting her up. Sometimes, his help was no help at all. Beryl prayed the whole trip up the rocky cliff face, and latched onto Fili with a deathgrip once she got there. She didn't care how he or the others laughed at her for it. It took until the third load reached them before her nerves let her settle enough to allow Fili to help.

Once her fear wore off, she found herself amused by the intensive scrutiny the Dwarves gave every inch of the grassy nook. Beryl found herself hiding laughter more than once, taking in the eager way Her Boys carefully searched every nook, cranny, and crag of the area. But they found nothing more than grass, rocks, and that flat impassive wall that would answer no spell or command, though they were certain sure this was what they'd come all this way to find. Beryl sighed and set about setting camp. Apparently, she'd be cooking supper tonight.

Her Boys were antsy. They had found the Back Door, but nothing they could do would make it open, or to make the keyhole show itself, and Durin's Day was upon them. The only new development as far as Beryl was concerned was the small thrush testing her patience. It apparently was daring her to try her hand at Thrush pot pie. Incessantly, hour after hour, it cracked snails against a rock right at Beryl's heel almost. Beryl considered moving her bedding, but figured it'd wasn't far enough away from the noise anywhere in the nook to really bother. So she gritted her teeth, and mentally went through every recipe she knew for cooking birds. It helped, a little. Still, the thrush captured and cracked snails against the grey stone by Beryl's heel.

The Dwarves, who had been so excited when they first found the seamless gray wall, now grumbled in a group together at the end of the grassy sward, their hearts so low they dragged the ground. She caught, amidst the thrush's noise, bits and pieces of their plans.

"I suppose we could try the front gate."

"Are you mad? That smoke rolling out tells you nothing? It'd be suicide!"

"So we wait here indefinitely? We've enough to last a little while, but not forever."

"Perhaps we could scout further around, find another way in. As much damage the dragon's caused, he might have created another fissure we could use?"

"And perhaps I could use my own bootstraps to pull meself up to the moon!" So the grumbling went, round and round, as the sun sank and the sliver thin moon slowly winked over the horizon. Fingers of dying sunlight played over the gray surface, that had remained unchanging all this time.

Crack!

Beryl slowly turned her head towards the featureless wall that had stymied all their hopes.

Crack!

"Boys! Boys! It's happening, get over here already!" Beryl jumped up from her spot, waving frantically to get their attention.

Just as she hopped up, a small round bit of the wall fell away as the last finger thin light of the setting sun lit up a small black hole in the middle of the wall.

Thorin, hands shaking, pulled the key from around his neck, fitted it in the keyhole, and turned the key.

For the first time in a hundred and seventy one years, a Dwarf entered Erebor.


	58. Into the Dragon's Lair

**A/N: Hello lovely readers! Life remains busy, but for better reasons than it has been. Between a new job (I'm in training!) and how these final chapters are just being plain STUBBORN, updates continue to be slow and painful. Hope you find this update as enjoyable as you've found the easier to write chapters. Of course, the line at the End is all Tolkien's genius. To this day, I hear it in Richard Boone's voice. I love you forever if you know what I'm talking about. ;) **

**As always, Wren appears courtesy of the marvelous kkolmakov who now has her own , tumblr, and writer's blog you need to visit to believe. Links on her profile, along with stories you really need to visit, because dang.**

* * *

They didn't dare go far into the mountain for fear of alerting Smaug. A dragon's sense of smell was legendary for a reason. Luckily, they didn't have to go very far before they found a long forgotten chamber just off the passageway that would do nicely as a campsite. Dori was in high spirits as he arranged the room into the perfect campsite, ordering the rest of the Company about with abandon. Having found it spacious enough to accommodate everyone, Bofur went to try his luck convincing Bombur and Bifur to join them.

It didn't go quite as planned, as Bombur had already found a small twisty cavern to shelter him and the ponies. He was quite comfortable, and wouldn't be trusting his weight to the flywalks or much abused ropes, thank you.

"Besides, who would look after the ponies? We're fine here, even dragon fire can't reach the back of this cave."

"Well then, I hope we don't find out differently the hard way." For once, Bofur wore a worried frown, and it didn't change when Thorin called the Company together around the small camping fire. It only took the second worried look in her direction for Beryl to put two and two together.

Suddenly, or more likely gradually, it was no longer acceptable to send her down to the Dragon's Lair, and the Boys' Club was trying to decide the Right Thing To Do. As if any of the basic facts for why Gandalf had insisted she come along had really changed. She was still the quietest of the lot, and to top that off, she had that blasted ring. Gathering her courage (because really, who in their right mind wants to enter a dragon's lair?) Beryl approached them, staff already tapping against the palm of her hand.

"Oh look at you all! We all know why I was asked along on this trip, and really, it doesn't make sense to send anyone else down there but me. If it all goes to pot, I do have the ring to hide me. So I'll go check things out and grab the Arkenstone if I can. If I'm not back by supper, well, I suppose the worst will have happened then, and you lot can plan from there." She wasn't surprised a bit when Fili swooped her up and nearly crushed her ribs. Between that and the kiss he laid on her, she was rather thankful he was supporting her weight, because her knees felt like jellyrolls.

The hubbub the rest of the Dwarves set up barely registered as background noise. Thorin had risen to his majestic height, protest and outrage written all over him, when a small hand on his shoulder stopped him cold. He and Wren exchanged speaking looks and Thorin subsided, his massive paw wrapped securely around hers. Though who was giving who strength just then was anyone's guess.

While Beryl was still finding her feet from the smacker Fili laid on her, her blonde betrothed was already addressing his uncle. "I want to go with her, at least as far as the tunnel allows. Please, Uncle." Whole conversations passed wordlessly between the two, ending with Thorin's eyes on his own betrothed.

"As far as the tunnel, but no further, else you'll bring the dragon down on us all."

"You realize, in one fell swoop, you may have just decimated the collective Dwarven male pride for centuries to come?" Fili's hushed voice in Beryl's ear sent shivers quaking down her spine. It took her a moment or more to register just exactly what had been said.

"Oh really? By insisting on fulfilling my role in the Company? For not letting the whole Company go clanking about, ensuring the dragon wakes and sets fire to all the lands around again?" Beryl cut her eyes slyly to Fili. "By making them act intelligently for once?"

"You wound me."

"Not as badly as that dragon would have, had I let you lot have your way. I stand a chance, a chance, mind you, of getting by the old firebelly. Cover you in six layers of eiderdown and you'd still sound like a tinker's cart over rough ground." Beryl whispered as she carefully made her way down the dark tunnel. Though it didn't really matter, since Fili still creaked and clanked right along beside her.

"A tinker's cart? Really?" She loved the humor in his voice, and was glad he was enjoying the light banter as much as she was, even though she could see the tunnel's end just ahead of her.

"Carrying nothing but pots and kettles, yes." She winced as a buckle on his vambrace clinked loudly against the tunnel wall where he had caught his balance.

"Why kettles?" She absolutely loved how easily Fili had set himself up. She hoped he enjoyed her answer as much as she did.

"Because you're steamy and full of hot air." She turned and caught him in a kiss just as he opened his mouth to retort. "This is it, love. I'm assuming you're waiting here for me?"

"Of course." Fili stubbornly set his jaw, and leaned purposefully against the tunnel wall. Telling her with his body language wild horses couldn't drag him away from that very spot. Beryl could only shake her head at him.

"Right then, I guess I'll see you when I get back." Beryl, with all her courage in both hands, took the first quaking step into the Dragon's Lair proper.

It didn't take her long to spook badly enough she slipped the ring on her finger. Of course, she felt thoroughly justified when the loud sound resolved itself into an obvious dragon sized snore. She was very very glad of her ring just then. She took even greater pains to creep through the dark, treacherous piles of haphazard treasure. How was she supposed to find the Arkenstone in the dark?

The hill of treasure in front of her started to slide precariously towards her, and Beryl scrambled back from it as quietly as she could. Then in the dark she made out the faint outline of the dragon. He'd rolled over in his sleep. Beryl waited for her heart to make its slow way back to her chest from her mouth.

It took a full minute later to realize she actually saw the dragon in the dark! How? She looked around the room, and noticed faint glints and soft illumination coming up from the heaps and piles around her. Some of the very jewels in the hoard were glowing like soft starlight. Looking at the treasure hoard was almost comparable to looking at a field of starts at her feet.

_Well, then, this will have to do._ Beryl thought as she picked up a small starry gem to act as a torch as she searched for the arkenstone. _I sure hope this doesn't take long, though considering these piles, I might be here 'til daylight._

Beryl searched carefully and quietly as only a Hobbit scared for her existence and all she loved could, and slowly made her way through the hoard. Just as she was sitting down, considering going back to camp empty handed, a bright sparkle caught her eye, brighter than any other starred gem in the hoard had.

Making her way to the gem, she saw why it had taken her so long to find it, as it was wedged under a golden bench, carved with Dwarven runes and padded in rich velvet, or the remains of what appeared a very fine velvet, considering it had survived as well as it had in a dragon's hoard. Beryl shook her head. She wasn't here for musings on velvet. She was here for the Arkenstone, and as brightly shining as the palm sized jewel wedged between the front legs of the bench was, she believed she'd found it.

Beryl reached for it….and was picking herself up several feet away, remembering what seemed to have been a silent explosion that had vibrated her very bones. Shaking her head to clear her vision, she carefully made her way back to the gem, and picked it up without further incident.

Just as she realized the constant background noise of the sleeping dragon was gone, and the heaving mountain was a slowly rising dragon waking from his decades long slumber. It took everything she had not to shriek when those great golden eyes swept across her hiding place.

She was not so lucky to hold in the whimper when that bronze gong of a voice spoke rattling her bones like the Arkenstone's explosion hadn't.

"Well, thief! I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath. Come along! Help yourself, there is plenty and to spare!"


	59. And What She Found There

**A/N: Life is interesting these days, but I still managed to piece a chapter together for you lovely peoples. If you recognize it, it's probably borrowed from either Tolkien or Jackson. Sadly, no Wren this chapter, she's getting her medicines ready to save everyone's can next chapter. You know they're not getting out of this without some big booboo's.**

**Oh, and Beryl's offering brownies if you can figure out what all she's referring to when she tries her hand at riddling a dragon. Like seriously, she hates riddles.**

* * *

Beryl was in a pickle the likes of which she'd never been stuck. Dragon Lore was very clear on this: if you wished to survive a dragon, never outright refuse one. Which in the parlance of the lore meant riddles. She'd always been rubbish at riddles.

How was she to refuse without refusing? "Your generosity is much appreciated, Mighty Smaug, but I did not come for your treasure." No, indeedy, she thought. I came to reclaim the Dwarves' treasure. "Part of what brought me hither was to see if you were as impressive and calamitous as the stories painted you. I didn't quite believe them." I'd hoped to find a weakness by now, groused Beryl internally.

"Oh really? I find that hard to believe. You know my name, but I've never smelt you before. Who are you, and where are you from, may I ask?" Smaug scanned the chamber, looking for a hint of the little Hobbit, but Beryl tucked herself small behind the golden bench, and prayed her ring would hold up against dragon sight.

"Yes, yes you may ask." Beryl panicked, what could she say?

"Well, little thief? Where are you from? What is your name?" Oh goody, the dragon was getting impatient.

"I came out of a bag, though no bag went over me. I'm the lucky number, the lost and foundling, ring finder, and broom bearer. Seven sought my hand, but only one that mattered. I came from under a hill, and over the hills and through the hills my paths have taken me." Beryl was babbling, there was no other word for it. She couldn't make herself stop now if she wished it. She considered seeing if the Arkenstone would fit her mouth just to make the nonsense stop.

"Is that so? Very interesting, but I hardly believe that's your usual name." Smaug sounded smug, and Beryl could well believe why. It was only a matter of time before her galloping tongue gave him a real clue and then it'd be curtains for her, Laketown, and her Boys.

"I've befriended bears and rode eagles, doped kings and roped spiders. I was a queen though no king married me."

"Hardly strange if you were born royal. Is that it, then? Some trinket of your family line lies here you've come to collect?" Again the suspicious old lizard reared his head, ready to take offense.

"Think long and hard, Mighty Smaug. Your hoard contains the lost treasures of many. It was only a matter of time before one or the other came to collect. Surely you prepared for such an event?" Was that a taunt, did she just taunt the living flame thrower? Yavanna above help her.

"Revenge!" he snorted, and the light of his eyes lit the the hall from floor to ceiling like scarlet lightning. "Revenge! The King under the Mountain is dead and where are his kin that dare seek revenge? Girion, Lord of Dale, is dead, and I have eaten his people like a wolf among sheep, and where are his sons' sons that dare approach me?"

Smaug reared up high, so high Beryl would have lost sight of his head and neck in the shadows were it not for those gleaming gold eyes, brighter than the starlight gems littering the hoard.

"I kill where I wish and none dare resist. I laid low the warriors of old and their like is not in the world today. Then I was but young and tender. Now I am old and strong, strong, strong! Thief Queen in the Shadows! My armour is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath, death!" Smaug belched out a gout of flame that seared a path across the far cavern wall, incidentally lighting several torches. Beryl caught a glimpse of gems and jewels caught on Smaug's stomach in the now flickering light. She tiptoed closer to peer at it. There was something there…

But it was quickly interrupted by a clamor in the hallway behind her. "No, no, no, tell me they didn't."

"Beryl!" There in the archway to the tunnel was not only her irrepressible Fili, but nearly the whole company besides, perfect sitting ducks for Smaug to blow to kingdom come.

"Barrel?" Laughed the dragon. "How did I know those infernal lakemen played into this? It is time to remind them who is truly King Under the Mountain."

"Hoi there, lizard lips! I'm not done with you!" A small goblet smacked Smaug on the rear haunch, whipping his attention back around, and the jet of flames seared the area behind him instead of the huddled dwarves.

Beryl was already running for her life, scattering coins and gems just as fast as her little furred feet could fly. Fili joined her, quickly slipping and sliding across the treasures as Smaug whipped his head this way and that, trying to decide which of the many targets to crisp first. It seemed part and parcel of the madness to notice the thrush flitting along with them, stopping to rest occasionally on the odd hilt or gilt frame to wait on their slow feet to catch up.

"What are you doing here?" Beryl was impressed with herself. Normally, she would either have breath to run, or breath to talk. This adventure really had done wonders for her stamina.

"Isn't it obvious? It's a rescue." Once again Beryl wondered at her blonde beau's mental stability. How else to explain his glib manner at a time like this.

"Well, who's going to rescue you?"

"You did, wicked aim with the goblet."

"I can't believe this."

"Fili!" Only one voice could bellow and echo like that. Beryl turned with Fili to see Thorin gesture in that annoying silent language of theirs, before Fili had her by the elbow, and was racing her down a narrow passage Smaug hadn't a chance to fit. They heard his angered roar behind them, and dashed into the first doorway to present itself just as flames filled the passage.

"So, does Thorin have a plan besides giving Smaug more targets?" Beryl asked as he towed her along with him. Fili had barely slowed their jog taking the turn into the new passage, and though she knew he'd never been there, he seemed to know exactly where he was going.

"Yep, we've got to get to the forges." He didn't even sound winded. She was jealous, because now that the adrenaline spike was done, she was near dead on her feet.

"What's he expect in the forges?" However, her curiosity was very alive and well.

"You'll see." The glee on Fili's face alone could have lit the dark passageway. Fili pulled her further along, the rampaging dragon's noise becoming fainter, and the quick patter of dwarven boots closer as all the Company gathered at the Great Forges that lay dormant and cold.

Dwalin stopped flat at the sight of their sad state. "The plan's not going to work."

"It'll take more than we've got with us to get these running again. We've no fire hot enough to light them." Balin looked disappointedly around him.

"Have we not?" The grin that split Thorin's face was a match for any his mischief happy nephews ever sported. Thorin paced to the verge of the platform and bellowed down into the pit. "I did not think to see you so easily outwitted."

"What in Yavanna's name is he doing?" Beryl whispered fiercely to Fili.

"What for it, Beryl. I do believe it's going to work!" Fili slowly edge Beryl and himself into the cover of a large, thick pillar, apparently anticipating the outcome of Thorin's taunts.

"At what, getting us fried to a crisp?"

"You have grown slow and fat in your dotage, slug." Thorin's grin was enough to split his face. He offered over his shoulder, as the Company watched Smaug's great head slowly rise over the edge. "Brace yourself" and Dragon fire roared over all their heads, bringing the Great Forges to brilliant life.


	60. I has no glasses Interlude

So, this story is temporarily on hiatus until i can actually see what it is I'm writing. I go to the eye doctor wednesday, and hope to be sighted again in time for a Monday update.

We left our intrepid heroes baiting a dragon to light the forge fires, so we still need to see what Thorin's grand plan is,

~the fallout from his Grand Plan

~How Wren saves their necks

~what's with that thrush anyhow

~and what follows after that.

After all, we still haven't met the reason it's named 'Raven Hill' yet, have we? ;)

and my eyes are screaming after just that tidbit of writing. You do NOT want to know how many backspaces were involved. I really thought I was a better typist. Love me anyhow, and see you with a real update soonish. I hope.

3's to you all


	61. How to Maim Your Dragon

**A/N: My sincerest apologies for this taking as long as it did. Between Life, the Universe, and everything else, it's been hard to sit down and write. The glasses took forever to get used to them (still not all there, either).**

**Luckily, a very good friend, kkolmakov, kicked me into high gear, and even helped me get Wren's voice right. So, without her, you might still be waiting. Give her fanfiction page (and her writer's page rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca) some love to let her know you appreciate her. ^_^**

* * *

Bang! The entire platform shook as Smaug rammed the gigantic support beams trying to reach the annoying Dwarves. Thorin was already in motion, ordering this one to man the bellows, that one to pull levers, and sending Balin to make bombs. Dwalin voiced Beryl's own reservations that whatever that was Balin was making would be ready in time to do any good. The dragon was making quick work of the beams between him and the Dwarves.

"Fili, pull that lever on my mark!"

"Aye Thorin, on it!" Fili dashed forward and quickly scaled the ladder to man a lever near what looked to be a quenching flue. Well, Beryl wasn't about to let her Blondie out of her sight, so she found herself clambering right up that rickety old ladder right behind him.

Turned out it was a good thing she did. Smaug finally powered through the sturdy beams separating him from the taunting dwarves, and the whole room lit up as he drew in to breathe fire.

Thorin, crazy as a fox Thorin, held his place there in front of Smaug until the last moment possible before finally shouting "Now." It took Beryl and Fili's weight together to make the rusted lever move, and Smaug's gaping mouth was drowned in several hundred gallons of the River Running. In fact, the weight of the water was enough to push Smaug back through the gap he'd made and into the chasm he'd climbed up.

Too bad he tangled in the many lines running criss cross over the Great Forges, and one of the flailing lines wrapped around Thorin's ankle, pulling him down too. Beryl did not have time to see how Thorin escaped, and Fili was dragging her off again. Why did Thorin want them in the Gallery of Kings? Why was Thorin floating down a river of gold in a wheelbarrow? How was he not scalded from that?

"Beryl, come on! We've no time for questions." The tug on Beryl's arm was enough to turn her back around to see the dark hallway Fili was leading her down. Then his words registered.

"Bother and befuddlement, was that out loud?" Beryl was mortified. They did not need to know every stray thought that wandered through her mind.

"Yes, now move it!" Fili's entire concentration was on getting them to the Gallery in time. Beryl was never so thankful for a life threatening situation in her life. Imagine, being thankful to Smaug!

"There, we need to get up there." Fili skidded into the gallery, pointing to a walkway on the left. Beryl saw no way up there from her vantage point.

"Okay, how?" Fili had no time to answer Beryl, because a rumbling roar from back down the hallway announced just how much Smaug had gained on them. He grabbed her arm and towed her up a narrow stairwell all but hidden by a half fallen banner.

"Okay, HOW did you know that was even there?" puffed a very exhausted hobbit. Beryl rested hands on knees while Fili eyed the dark hallway for Smaug's emergence.

"Kili and I have studied Erebor's layout since we were in short pants." Fili's explanation was interrupted by flying rubble as Smaug burst into the Gallery. Fili threw himself over Beryl as stray rock and stonework pelted them on the walkway.

A very angry dragon's head slowly rose over them.

"Here, you witless worm." Beryl swore she heard vertebrae pop in Smaug's neck as he whipped around to face Thorin, perched atop a large statue mold.

"You!" If Beryl never heard that rumbling thunder again, it would still be too soon. The ponderous thudding of Smaug's slow steps towards Thorin rattled the rubble surrounding Beryl and Fili.

"I am taking back what you stole." Thorin matched Smaug glare for glare. In fact, Beryl thought she might fear Thorin's a bit more.

"You would take nothing from me, Dwarf. I laid low your warriors of old. I instilled terror in the hearts of men. I am King under the Mountain." Smaug's head leveled with Thorin, but Thorin budged not a bit, staring the fearsome dragon straight in his golden eyes.

"This is not your kingdom. These are dwarf lands, this is dwarf gold, and we will have our revenge." Thorin turned, and bellowed in Khuzdul "Release the stops now!" Beryl surprised herself by recognizing the words.

A series of pops and snaps rattled their way over the mold and it fell away even as Thorin was hoisted high bove Smaug's reach. Smaug, smelling a trap, stared at the golden image before him, daring it to move.

It did. A fountain of molten gold burst out of the melting face. It doused the dragon, knocking him to the floor, and pouring out over him until he was buried in a lake of molten metal that used to be the King's Gallery.

"Is it over?" whispered Beryl to Fili. She noticed the thrush had followed them, and had alighted on a brick near her hand, cocking its head at the ripples rolling over the surface of the cooling gold lake.

" Looks like... not!" Fili pulled her behind him as the gold roiled mightily and Smaug burst free.

"Revenge? I'll show you revenge! I am Fire! I am Death! I shall lay waste to your precious Lake Men, but first…." His virulent gaze found where Fili sheltered Beryl on the walkway. "I shall lay waste to something infinitely more precious to you."

The great dragon stalked towards them, Beryl's mind frantically searching for some way to stave off the inevitable, but nothing came to mind. Thorin's grand gambit had failed, and they were stuck there with a giant lizard bent on their destruction.

"Here you go, you cursed leech!" A puff of dust filled the air around Smaug's head as a small herb sachet impacted on his nose, and he bellowed in pain, greater even than when covered in molten gold. Wren stood on a high ledge next to Thorin. Beryl thought, with insults like that, they were a match made by the Valar.

"What did you do to him?" Beryl called up to her.

"Stingwort, excellent antiseptic, but exceptionally painful in tender spots, such as eyes and nostrils ."

"You have got to teach me things like that. Wait, why didn't you mention this back at Elrond's?" Whatever Wren might have answered was lost in the next bellow, as the Dragon lurched back towards them.

"Though I cannot see you, little Thief Queen, I can still hear you!" Again his chest and belly glowed with fire, and again Beryl wondered what to do. She clasped the horrid ring so hard, the edges bit her hand, as if a sting of power had zapped her.

It was a crazy thought, but she was desperate enough to try it anyway. Beryl took her ring, and pitched it right in Smaug's gaping maw. The effect was immediate, and like nothing she imagined.

He bugled, he bellowed, he rolled and bucked, and he eventually tumbled his way free of the Gallery and out the front, barely catching wind enough in his wings to stay aloft. He was making towards Laketown.

"No, no no no no no no!" Beryl fidgeted on the ledge. "He's going for Laketown."

"You've done what you can, Beryl. Laketown knew he might come, and you made sure they were ready." Fili hugged her close, offering what comfort he could.

"Beryl, you read all the lore. Was there anything else in your readings?" inquired Wren as she and Thorin joined them on the lower walkway, watching Smaug's wobbly flight through the night.

"Yeah, the Lords of Laketown could talk to birds, but how is that going to help?"

"No, not just any birds. Thrushes." Thorin and the rest of them turned towards the little thrush on the brick, its head cocked as if studying them.

"Thorin, who was the last Lord in the Dale?" Wren chewed her bottom lip in deep thought.

"Girion."

"It can't be that easy." Beryl shook both her hands as her thoughts caught up. "Tilda told me her great grandfather was Lord of the Dale. I thought she was just pretending to talk to the little thrush we met that day, sweet Yavanna above…" She quit pacing and shaking as a final thought struck. "I know what to do!"

Beryl quickly knelt down in front of the thrush. "I sure hope you can understand me. I need you to fly fast as you can, straight to Bard the Bowman. He'll be in Laketown somewhere. Tell him to aim for a bare spot on Smaug's left breast. If he can hit it, the dragon's dead. Understand?" Beryl could scare credit it when the bird bobbed its head at her. "Then go, quickly!" The little bird flew out into the night, a tiny dot headed straight for Laketown, while the dragon still bucked and wobbled wildly, his flightpath anything but clear.

* * *

Guest: Argh! You nearly cost me my phone. I almost threw it when Thorin started proposing. You are quite amazing. So is Kkolmakov(hope I spelled that right)~quote

Aww, such a sweet compliment, though I am sorry about the phone (I've had those, the heart palpitations are not fun)

Also, very sorry it has taken so long to get back to you. Here's hoping to more regular updates from here on out, so wonderful reviews like this don't languish. *hugs* ~Wynni


	62. Whistle While You Work

**A/N: Holy Crow, peeps! We've busted six hundred reviews. My jaw is officially on the floor, and liable to stay there. I love reviews, I love talking with my readers. So, if by some hook, crook, or sideways, you've written me and I've not answered, please, drop a pm my way, I'll happily reply back.**

**Some of you may have noticed that Jenny-28 has a chapter up with the same title. This was a case of 'great minds' since both chapters deal with scouring out Erebor. I had decided the next chapter title before I'd finished writing "Maim" and had mentioned the title to Jenny. So, yes, Jenny knows, and yes, Jenny approves. With enthusiasm, I might add.**

** If you've not checked out Jenny's "On the road to finding out" or her conspirator YMR's companion piece, all i can ask is "why not?" They're both great, and well worth a look.**

"**When Young Melissa Sweeps a Room" is an adorable poem I first read in my Childcraft Poems and Nursery Rhymes when I was a child. I did not write it. That joy belongs to Nancy Byrd Turner.**

**Wren appears courtesy of kkolmakov, who has a plethora of goodies you can find here or courtesy of her Facebook page katya kolmakov.**

* * *

**Whistle While You Work**

They stood there in the remains of the Great Gate, watching the wobbly flight of the dragon in the moonlight. Every so often, a spurt of flame would light up the wispy clouds above or the swirling waters below. Bugles of pain would pierce the silence. It was not a quiet or graceful flight, and Beryl curled tight into Fili's side, worry furrowed deeply in her brow.

In what seemed like far too long a wait, the dragon roared one last time, and plummeted straight into the dark waters below. A great wave rolled out from where the dragon crashed, and rolled away towards Laketown. It seemed the dragon would cause havoc one last time. Beryl heaved a heavy sigh, and turned her face into Fili's warm, strong chest, letting his solid heartbeat soothe her nerves.

"'Tis over." The soft words passed Thorin's lips with so much wonder Beryl raised up from her comfortable spot to take in the thunderstruck look on Thorin's face. "The Bowman did it. It's over at last." Beryl wondered at the surety in Thorin's words. There really was no way to know what caused the beast to fall in the water. Maybe the ring finally killed it, or maybe Bard shared the news with others that volunteered to stay behind. She had to admit to herself, given how long it fought the ring, and how quickly it dropped after that final bugle of pain, that it most likely fell to an arrow, and that arrow most likely came from the one man in Laketown she never saw without his bow. Only time would tell for sure.

"My King," Thorin turned to find Balin behind him, a familiar crown in his hands. "Welcome home Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain." It wasn't Beryl's imagination that Thorin leaned a little harder into Wren's side. She half suspected her slight weight was all that was keeping him vertical.

To claim that Dwarves know how to party would be a monumental understatement. Bombur and Bifur had joined them in the mountain, now that some way other than the 'flywalks' were open. All they had were the supplies they brought with them, yet with Bombur's culinary magic (and possibly long hidden stores found in the mountain) there was food, there was mead, and that eventually led to music.

Beryl was pressed into sharing a Shire tune, one she'd known since she was a fauntling. She wasn't sure if it was its own merits or the vast quantities of aged mead that had her song so well received. Bofur went so far as to sit her down to work out the tune on his clarinet, promising it would become a welcome staple at Dwarven celebrations.

With music came dancing, and Beryl and Wren were passed from partner to partner till they both had to cry off for dizziness' sakes. They huddled together in the corner, laughing at the increasingly drunken dancing of the Company.

Beryl woke to the sound of flapping wings. Dwarves as far as her eye could see were still sound asleep. She wasn't sure if everyone slept so well because they were exhausted, or too drunk. Either way, she was up now, and that blasted thrush was knocking again. It appeared thrush pot pie wanted back on the menu.

"Would someone get the door already, me head's fit to burst!" The muffled groan appeared to have originated from the hat flung haphazardly across Bofur's face.

"Nobody told you to try downing an entire hogshead of mead by yourself." Beryl's sympathy was nonexistent. She rolled over to see Thorin and Wren in deep conversation. In fact, by all appearances, they had been up for a while. Thorin had his sleeves rolled up, and Wren had her hair covered in a dust cloth, while an apron protected her usual healer's garb.

"Mahal's bronze braies, Bofur. 'Tis too early in the morn for your yauping." Dwalin roused, rubbing sleep grotty eyes, and yawned wide enough Beryl swore she could see his tonsils.

"Up lads, there's work to be done. The mountain's air is too stale, and I refuse to leave that wyrm's stench a moment longer in our home." Thorin looked as serious as Beryl ever saw him, and Wren, though determined, looked decidedly green around the gills.

"Well, if that's all ye want, we can flush it right out with the River Running." Bofur offered, he'd not even lifted the hat off his face from his sprawled position on the floor.

"You can flush the mountain, and not wash everything right out the front gate?"

"Well, we can always spread a seine across the main gate, if it'd make you feel better." Bofur collected himself, sitting up to give Thorin his full attention, seeing his face, Bofur set his usual levity set aside. "It should work for the lower levels and mines, anyroad."

"Besides all that, there are rooms it just wouldn't be practical to treat that way. The quarters and food stores come to mind." How Balin managed to look fresh as a daisy after carousing well past Beryl's bedtime, she'd never know. She'd tried asking once. He merely laughed it off.

"There will be no flushing the food storage rooms!" Bombur, awakened by the thrush knocking, was already putting breakfast together. Honeyed porridge on waybread never looked so inviting. Beryl's stomach growled loud enough the entire Company heard, and laughed.

"Good thing this doesn't take long to cook. Come and get yours, before the Hobbit eats it all!" It was a rare day Bombur could tease someone else about their eating habits, but that didn't mean Beryl'd let him have it all his way.

"I've never!" Beryl stomped her foot at Bombur. Her pique enough to set the Company howling again, yet no one was brave enough to point out she was amongst the first to get her share. Fili would gamely point out it was he that handed her a bowl.

After breakfast, the Company set about cleaning the mountain. It was too big a job for just the fifteen of them, but they could at least clear the rooms they'd most need, and work their way out from there. The flues were duly used to wash out the lower levels, handled by Bofur, Bifur, Gloin, and Dwalin. Bombur, Dori and Beryl set to cleaning the kitchens and food stores. Wren, Oin, and Ori handled the infirmary and living quarters. Nori was sent to gather specific herbs Wren described that would help freshen the air in the mountain. Soon, instead of the fusty must of a sealed dragon's lair, the mountain smelled of green growing things and mountain winds. Balin and Thorin had Fili and Kili clearing the many air vents of fallen debris. Powered by the great forges, the bellows did the rest.

They had made progress through the mountain, and were now, Beryl and Wren, working together on the Main Gallery. Beryl started humming, which lead to singing. Wren, caught up in the bright tune, decided to enact the song with her broom.

_When young Melissa sweeps a room  
I vow she dances with a broom!  
She curtsies in a corner brightly  
And leads her partner forth politely._

_Then up and down in jigs and reels,_  
_With gold dust flying at their heels,_  
_They caper. With a whirl or two_  
_They make the wainscot shine like new;_

_They waltz beside the hearth, and quick_  
_It brightens, shabby brick by brick._  
_A gay gavotte across the floor,_  
_A Highland fling from door to door._

_And every crack and corner's clean_  
_Enough to suit a dainty queen._  
_If ever you are full of gloom,_

_Just watch Melissa sweep a room!_

Just as Beryl finished the last lyric, she was swept herself into a kiss enough to knock the curl right off her fuzzy toes. "Fili, what?" was all she could manage when he finally let her up for air.

"Can't help it Love, you make me muzzy headed." The smile on his face was enough to chase off any irritation being hiked up unawares into a bearhug might have caused.

"That makes no sense, all I was doing was singing. You've heard me before." Beryl was sure Fili was having her on.

"Doesn't matter if it's the hundredth time, still works."

"What?"

"Look at Uncle." Beryl leaned around Fili's thick arm, to see poor Thorin against the doorjamb, limbs loose and hanging, his jaw nearly to his knees, and his eyes intently following every dip and sway Wren made with her broom.

"I wouldn't believe it if I weren't seeing it with my own eyes."

"Told you, love, can't help it."

"Just because it's true, doesn't mean it isn't ridiculous."

"Admit it, you like it."

"I will admit no such thing." Might have been what Beryl said, but she also wasn't trying to get out of Fili's bearhug, which Fili noted. They stood awhile, watching Thorin watching Wren.


	63. Raven Returns

**A/N: Hello Peoples! Sorry this again took two weeks, but those Ravens are stubborn birds. Wren and Thorin's lovely exchange comes to us thanks to the lovely kkolmakov. She has started a lovely little fic called "Fairy Wars" over on AO3. If you've enjoyed this, I think you'll get a kick out of King Thorncliff the Puck and Pixie Princess Wren. The story is T rated, and follows this same mix of adventure and romance. I also have it on good authority that those darling nephews are going to be there.**

**I've also started uploading chapters of Broom there. That site allows links, so all these lovely pictures Emilyaeren of Deviantart have done for Broom can be inserted.**

**We now return you to your regularly scheduled Hobbity goodness. Feedback has been known to make updates happen faster. ;)**

* * *

"Okay, so what brought you boys up here to check on us anyways?" Beryl leaned back to watch the expressions flit across Fili's face. Right now, good humor all but glowed out of those merry blue eyes, and the dimples were in full bloom.

"Thorin was worried about Wren. Seemed she wasn't feeling well this morning. Apparently, she's over it now."

"Yep, can't imagine she'd be able to twirl like that if she was afraid breakfast would reappear." Beryl turned to look at the cosy little picture the two made. She'd never breathe a word of it outloud, but the only word to describe the two was 'adorable'.

Wren was leaned forward over her broom, hands folded demurely atop the handle, batting her long lashes at Thorin with a half smile dancing at the corners of her lips. What kept the picture she made from being sultry was the cobweb netting her hair, and a smudge of soot across the bridge of her upturned nose. None of that seemed to bother Thorin a bit, looking as smitten as any schoolboy with his first crush.

It took all Beryl's considerable skill not to jump three feet, when Thorin's voice rumbled over to them, clear as day. Apparently, the two were so wrapped up in each other, they forgot they had an audience. Beryl quickly slapped a hand over Fili's mouth, as he was taking a deep breath to break up the tender moment.

"I was concerned for you this morning, but it seems you are feeling better now?" Thorin gently rubbed the smudge off her nose.

"Oh! Thank you." Beryl wondered which it was, his warm hands on her face, or the smile he was most likely wearing that gave her that particularly dazed look. "Yes, I am feeling much better now. The fresh air and herbs helped greatly."

Beryl's ears perked up. What? Why would she be sensitive? Beryl shook her head clear. It wasn't like they'd had time or opportunity for it to be that particular conundrum. Wren's next words confirmed her conclusion.

"It seemed my magic cared not for the residue left behind by the serpent. It felt ill in my veins." Thorin sagged in relief. Though Beryl had to turn her attention from Wren and Thorin as the dwarf, whom she still had not ungagged, started vibrating from withheld laughter.

"Quiet you, unless you want to embarrass them?" Beryl whispered under her breath. Beryl jumped as the rattle of the broom hitting the floor drew her attention back to Thorin and Wren, now engaged in a very impressive kissing session. Wrens dainty hands were wrapped around Thorin's ears, as if afraid of him pulling away. Of course, by the way Thorin had her dipped over, he had no intentions of coming up for air anytime soon, and was now nibbling his way down her neck and across a collarbone.

"Well, Fili, I know where you get it from, now. My word." Any further commentary was interrupted by the clitter clatter of dwarven feet as Ori came careening into the Gallery at full speed.

"The Ravens! The Ravens are back! And they have news!" They all rushed out to see this long awaited homecoming for themselves. Each of them wondering what news the Ravens brought with them.

Beryl soon found herself in a chamber she'd never expect from a dwarf. The walls were chiseled stone, but open, letting in a drifting breeze, while wide windows gave the Ravens free passage in and out. A bend in the room provided a fine comfy shelter from mountain storms, where spacious roosts awaited the black plumed residents. It was here an aged and balding raven, bigger even than the birds that visited Beorn, rested as patiently and regally as any King awaiting a state visit.

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thor, long have the Ravens of Erebor awaited your coming."

"Long have the Dwarves of Erebor desired to return." Thorin nodded regally to the raven, giving him due honor he'd only shown before to Elrond. "Roac, son of Carc, I understand there is news we must hear?"

"News, yes, from those whose wings bore them hence from the Misty Mountains. A great host was gathering, Wargs bearing Orcs, and the one leading them is Bolg, son of Azog, he who has vowed to end the Line of Durin. Their eyes turn even now upon Erebor." Roac settled himself, as if trying to find comfort from his own news. "They will come, King under the Mountain, and sweep all before them in their fury."

"The Lakemen! They'll be caught out on the road, what can we do?" Beryl fretted, wrapped up as she was in Fili's arm. His large palm patted hers.

"Uncle will think of something, I'm sure." Thorin did appear deep in thought, his brows drawn low as he considered all the bird told him.

Beside him, Wren barely contained herself, her nose twitching, little orange curls trembling on the temples. Her hand lay on Thorin's upper arm and she leaned in to his ear. Beryl heard frantic whisper, something about "Elves" and "sending a message."

If possible, Thorin's brows drew even lower, and the frown on his face enough to scare even a warg. "Roac, send word to Mirkwood and the Iron Hills. The Woodland King is being given the opportunity to regain his honor, and we will need the might of my cousin against the Orcs and Wargs."

The old bird tilted his head at Thorin, eyeing him with something approaching humor. "What do you wish your messengers to say?"

"To Mirkwood, say only that the Lakemen need their aid from the approaching Warg Army, and to bring them swiftly to Erebor. To Dain, say only to come fight Orcs. He'll need little more prompting than that."

"As you wish, Sire." The ancient bird roused himself and flew haltingly out to do the King's bidding.

Once Roac was gone, Thorin turned to Wren. "When the pointy eared bastards invade our home, I will remind you repeatedly it was your idea, my heart," he sneered in a venomous tone.

"It is a wise idea, and I just beat you to it by a second," Wren murmured pacifyingly, and rubbed his upper arm. He looked at her askance.

"And they are not going any deeper than visitor chambers." Thorin decided to make his displeasure finally known.

"But of course, dear," Wren patted his shoulder, and the King puffed seemingly satisfied.

"Should we go tell Kili his girlfriend's coming?" Beryl whispered to Fili, hardly able to keep the grin off her face. She was taking notes, Wren handled Thorin like a master conductor. Though, to be fair, Wren techniques quite probably only worked because it was Wren.

"You may tell Kili only after you tell Dwalin we must step up the reinforcements we'd discussed." Thorin turned the full force of his scowl on Fili, leaving no doubt to the seriousness of the command.

"Hauling stonework?" Fili still held that half smile, but his eyes looked tired. Apparently, the boys had been busy with quite a bit more than just cleaning.

"And more." At his uncle's words, his shoulders drooped. Beryl patted his back. Just what had been going on?

"Aye Uncle." Beryl eyed Thorin over Fili's shoulder as they left the Rookery together. Whatever it was, she hoped she'd be able to help.


	64. Storied Storage

**A/N: Holy hep cats! This is nearly 2k words. I will tell you kkolmakov is responsible for the absolute hoot at the end. The last scene is almost all hers, word for word.**

**News! AO3 allows links and picks and other fine things. So, I'm slowly posting Broom over there, along with a great collab with Katya called 'Sunny Side Up' Hobbit inspired characters set loose in the Star Trek Universe. It's every bit as fun as it sounds.**

**I had a guest review! So, I'll answer at the end of this. Now, On with the Broominess!**

* * *

Beryl surveyed the sacks, barrels, and crates in front of her with no little dismay. Somehow, she had gotten left with the job of sorting them into some kind of sense. Except, all of these provisions were dwarf sized at best and human or elf sized at worst. She was going to need more hands for this job than just hers.

The humans and elves had arrived just a few days ago, including a stopover in Laketown for more supplies. There was no way they were going to let the Orcs pen them up to starve to death. Luckily, Laketown was still standing. The giant wave from Smaug's demise spent itself before reaching it. The dragon had failed even that much. Which meant they would have food enough to survive the Orcs and the oncoming winter, if Beryl could sort it all into some sort of usable order.

"I can't believe it, can you believe it? King Thorin was very specific, all elves were to stay in the visitors section only." The anxious voice floated down the hallway and into Beryl's storeroom, pulling her out of her mental shuffling. "And then she talked to him for just a moment, and suddenly we're allowed down in the storage chambers? How?"

"Their storekeeper needs hands to help sort the supplies for the siege, and whose hands better than ours, eh? Besides, it was Lady Wren's idea. King Thorin is apparently more sensible than our King believed?" came a breezy reply. Beryl couldn't believe her ears, she knew those voices.

"But, but, I mean, even summer squalls do not end that quickly. One moment he's lowered brows and growling, and then, smiles?" If Beryl had to hazard a guess, she'd bet Frazzled was so flummoxed Sirien was most likely pulling him along at this point.

"Well, his lady was stroking his beard." Beryl could just see that, too. Wren glancing about for privacy's sake, her palm laid primly along Thorin's jaw line, until those quick little fingers slid underneath that chin for a satisfying scratch before anyone could notice. Well, this time, someone noticed.

"Keep that to yourself, Sirien. I don't believe Lady Wren meant for anyone to see that. I prefer not to find out how sharp Orcrist is, if you please?" With that plea still upon his lips, the familiar forms of Frazzled and Sirien rounded the door. Sirien, as Beryl had predicted, entered first head t urned over her shoulder and pulling Frazzled along.

Both quickly noticed the little hobbit, and bowed low to her.

"Sirien and Medwyn of the Greenwood, at your service."

"Beryl Baggins, at yours." Beryl looked them up and down. Leather jerkins and sensible leggings told her they were serious about working. That's all she needed. "Right then, we need to sort these goods and get them situated to help us ride out the siege and whatever follows next. You'll do the lifting, I'll do the pointing. Everyone on board with that?"

They worked companionably for a couple hours, their conversation centered on which to pack where and often with a discussion of why. Beryl had to admit the elves often had a good idea. Just as often, when Beryl explained her reasoning for packing something a certain way, she found surprise quickly followed by appreciation flit across their faces. Beryl would bet her best broomstick she'd be able to navigate their winter storage cellars as well as her own if ever she set foot in the Woodland King's fastness again. Even so, the chatter soon idled, and Beryl's curiosity decided now would be a good time for some answers.

"So, I have your help here, what's the rest of you lot doing? I can't imagine they're playing draughts while they wait." Beryl shifted a basket a little closer to the front. The trick was to spread the perishables out so they lasted longer, but not so long they spoiled.

"Oh, King Thorin's put the men and elves to work, and a good thing, too. It's only a few weeks ahead of the Goblin armies we got here. I'm hoping there's hands enough now to finish the fortifications." Sirien's light and airy voice flitted out from a far corner where she was stacking crates, making sure the bottom crates were not only the heaviest, but also the sturdiest.

"Now, why do you sound so worried? Surely you could make it back to your keep before they got this far?" Beryl moved on to sorting sacks and checking labels, but her ears stayed pinned for the answer.

"Maybe yes, maybe no. If we did leave, who's to say they'd leave us in the wood? After taking you and the Men out, they could just as easily turn on us. Besides, we count the Men of Laketown allies, we can't just leave them." Frazzled- Medwyn, Beryl corrected herself. Really, she had done him a disservice. The two hours she'd spent in Sirien's company was comparable to riding herd on her entire collection of cousins. Medwyn had been Sirien herding for centuries.

"And there may be something to Our King trying to prove a thing or three to himself and maybe the Lady Wren?" Now Sirien was just being cheeky.

"Probably not as what you're thinking, Sirien." Medwyn's voice sounded grave, and Beryl felt her ears prick. "You know right well King Thranduil had no choice last time. His vision left little room for interpretation. This time, this time he can choose to stand firm."

"Vision? Last time? Interpretation?" Beryl's gaze tripped quickly between the two elves, both suddenly sporting furtive looks and shifty stances. "Might as well spill it to me now, or I'll simply wrangle it out of you later." Beryl even went so far as to waggle her finger at the both of them. Medwyn recognized it right away, and Sirien looked amused to be on the receiving end of her own sort of meddling for once.

"It's simple, really. King Thranduil refused aid to save the Dwarves of Erebor from annihilation." Sirien offered.

"Okay, how does that work, even?" Beryl was even tapping her foot. It sounded ludicrous on the surface.

"Our King, en route to back the dwarves as he'd promised, was struck by a vision so fierce, it nearly toppled him from his mount. In it, the men, the dwarves, and the elves went to face the dragon. All died in dragonfire." Sirien folded herself gracefully onto the topmost crate she'd been stacking to tell her story.

Beryl could see it all, quite easily. The dwarves, men, and elves full of righteous fury, emboldened by their numbers, and a canny dragon lying in wait for them. They would have died quickly and unexpectedly, with none left to mourn them.

"You've traveled with Thorin. Do you think for one minute he, Thrain, or Thror would have listened?" Medwyn shook his head. "Grief and their own sense of honor would have gotten them all killed, warning vision or no."

"Hmm, it seems to me there's little enough understanding on both sides." Beryl slid a sideways glance at the both of them. All remembering quite well the welcome the dwarves had gotten in Thranduil's court. Both elves had the presence of mind to look shamefaced.

"Well, that's about to change, and in a big way!" Sirien quickly changed the subject and mood, shifting excitedly on her crate to share her news. Her eyes sparkled with glee. " I heard King Thranduil sent Tauriel and her guard out to scout, and King Thorin made sure that nephew of his went with them!"

"Which one?" Beryl's mind immediately flew to Fili. She did not want him outside Erebor's safe walls, not with orcs coming.

"Kili of course! Thranduil was fit to be tied, but Tauriel could barely contain her smile, and Kili! He was grinning ear to ear." Sirien scoffed and chortled in turns, finding the news funny.

"Makes one wonder just how much scouting they'll accomplish then." Medwyn wasn't as effusive as Sirien, but there was a certain dry humor to his words.

"Well, they discovered a hidden aspen stand to keep the fletchers busy for this siege, that the Ironhill contingent will actually get here first with enough time to set up the ambush proper, and that the orcs are far enough out that even the last trebuchet will be ready before they get here." Fili leaned casually against the doorframe. The wide smirk set his dimples winking, no doubt pleased he'd managed to surprise elves.

Granted, Beryl had them well preoccupied, but still. A dwarf surprised elves. Thranduil would have kittens. "Beryl, I thought you might like to join me for dinner? It's well past evening bells."

"Yes, please, and thank you. If I see another sack this evening, I'm liable to hurt someone." Beryl bowed to her helpers. "I'll see the both of you back here tomorrow after breakfast?" Still speechless, both elves nodded respectfully. Beryl left on Fili's arm.

"Good thing your staff is still in your rooms." At least he waited until they were out of elvish earshot before making her laugh out loud.

Dinner with Fili was always a pleasure. They'd laughed over all the gushing Kili had done over the least little thing about Tauriel. They'd have to ask Wren about Tauriel. Thranduil kept her busy. Apparently, he'd trust the ravens only so far, as they had allied themselves with the dwarves. However, she had to report in regularly to Thranduil, and Thranduil was often in conference with Thorin, who would always have Wren present.

Firstly, Thorin trusted Wren's council more than any others. Including the Wizard who'd finally shown back up.

That was an odd day. Gandalf appeared at their newly repaired gates, looking a bit dazed. Something bad had happened. Not as bad as they had feared, but bad enough, and the cause had managed to disappear on them, and that was all Gandalf would say on the matter.

"You have quite enough worries of your own, King Under the Mountain." Furrowing his great bushy eyebrows at Thorin. "Don't go looking for more, or they might show up on your doorstep unannounced."

"They might show up anyway, even when you don't go looking for them." Beryl hadn't been addressed, but answered anyway. The shock on Gandalf's face, plus her outburst was enough to set every dwarf laughing. Okay, Thorin didn't laugh out loud, but he did smirk. It was still enough to chase the worry away, so there was that.

She was pulled out of her musings as Thranduil, in great elegant haste, overly ostentatious robes flapping like bird wings about his knees, passed her in the hallway. Beryl looked after him, shaking her head. She'd never understand Royals and Nobility. Then her sensitive hobbit ears pick up the most unlikeliest of sounds.

"Oh Thorin! Oh Yes!" There, it was coming from a broom closet. Beryl sidled up to it, and knocked politely when no further sounds could be heard.

Wren cautiously poked her head around the edge of the door. "Is he gone?"

"As if Melkor himself were chasing him." Beryl raised an eyebrow at Wren. "It's safe for you two to come out now."

Wren smiled a slow 'cat in the creamery' sort of smile. "I'm here alone. Just thought I'd pay him back."

* * *

**_Lindsey chapter 63 . Aug 19_**

**_I want Kili! I NEED Kili! More Kili please?_**

~I'm a little fond of the Snodgrass myself. I'll try to work more Kili in as I can for you.

Will that do?


	65. As the Battle Turns

**A/N: I am so very very sorry this has taken as long to write as it has. Between continued curveballs from life, the universe, and everything, plus the typical slowdown that happens when nearing a story's end, I am amazed I have been able to get anything at all written. We're nearly there, people! There may be one or two chapters left, dealing with the 'what comes after'. **

**News: Did you know I'm posting this to AO3? Or that kkolmakov, who continues to generously loan me her time, skills, and lovely Wren for this fiction, has a piece up there called Fairy Wars? It is humorous, light, and a very fun read. Especially if you ever wondered what Thorin would look like as a faun. Really, it's aces.**

**We also have a new collab there, 'Sunny Side Up'. Now that I'm nearly through with Broom, we'll be able to put more chapters up in a timely fashion~we hope.**

**And...did you see what else is on my page? kkolmakov wrote a darling one shot that is a definite must read, based on the now infamous Mirkwood line. Please take a moment to read 'An Acorn Doesn't Fall Far from the Tree.' Consider it therapy after today's bit of cliffy. (Sorry, but that's where the story monkey went.)**

* * *

If this was what all those epic ballads were about, Beryl Baggins decided then and there those bards could keep their battles, thank you. In her limited experience of one, Beryl found battles to be loud, confusing, and terrifying things.

Not that anyone let her anywhere near the fighting, perish the thought. No, Beryl was kept running, literally. Somehow, somewhy, Beryl had been left in charge of supplying everyone everything. Children too young to fight, but too old to be satisfied playing in the Grand Nursery (a repurposed gallery), were used as runners and messengers. This gaggle of teens needed arrows on the west facing battlements. Those almost teens were runners for the healers, and needed more wraps, more herbs, and more bedding.

Beryl was actually worried she might find by the end of the fight, she'd run all the fur off her feet. She finally found ten minutes to lean weakly against a wall, and catch her breath. With time to think about it, she wondered if Thorin might not have done it on purpose. If he kept her too busy, she wouldn't have time to worry about him or Fili or the rest of Her Company. Well, that didn't work, because now she was thinking about it, and now she needed to know how the battle was going. Gandalf would probably be the best place to start. If nothing else, he was at least tall enough to see over the crenelations.

Beryl made her way up to the Main Gate. Men, elves, and dwarves were all yelling to each other over the roar of combat. Trebuchets rattled alarmingly as massive boulders were hefted over the walls to crash amongst the orcs and wargs. Unfortunately, the Orcs had brought Cave trolls. Those monstrous beasts were capable of not only catching the incoming boulders, but of tossing them back. Shattered remains of boulder littered the battlement in testament to the sturdiness of dwarven construction. Picking her way carefully around one massive granite, Beryl finally spotted the grey wizard.

"Gandalf! How goes it?"

"It goes, Beryl Baggins. For good or ill, I cannot yet say." Bushy brows rose in humor at the halfling. "Though I will say, for now, that those you came asking about are still safe."

"Well then, mind your pointy hat so it remains so, I count you among that number, you know." Beryl prodded, and quickly turned her feet to head back downstairs. She was sure there were more bowstrings to find, or fletchings, or bandages. There seemed to be an endless need for all that until this battle was done. She'd throw the battle a farewell party if it meant seeing the back of it that much sooner.

By the time Beryl thought to actually visit the healing halls to check on Wren, the tide had apparently turned, and not in Erebor's favor. Beryl found Wren sitting and staring at an herb sachet in her hand.

"Wren? Wren, what's wrong?" Beryl sat down beside her friend, a comforting hand laid on the healer's arm.

"They're going out."

"Out, what do you mean they're going out? Why? What's happened?" Beryl was quickly growing alarmed, and her quickly squeaking voice showed it.

"The orcs turned and engaged Dain's forces too far out for even the trebuchets to reach. With their current numbers, the orcs could easily whittle them down, and then turn to finish us. Thorin thinks if they come upon their back while they're dealing with Dain's forces, we stand a chance of winning." Wren rolled the sachet absently between her hands. "Thorin is going to lead them." Wren turned bright burning eyes on the hobbit. She wondered a bit if it were a trick of the lamps that gave them that golden glowing look. "And both Fili and Kili are going with him."

"Let me guess, nobody could come up with a better plan." Beryl fumed. "I thought the whole idea was to catch the orcs between Dain's forces and the mountain's defenses. What happened to that plan?"

"The orcs were apparently smarter than we gave them credit?" Wren's voice was very dry and calm, but Beryl knew better, if for no other reason than the sachet was coming apart at the seams from her tight grip.

Beryl had never felt so conflicted in her life. She wanted to stay here and comfort her friend. She wanted to run after Thorin and yell at him for being so brave and bloody noble when it could get him killed. She wanted to fling herself in Fili's arms to keep him here and safe, because she knew he was just as brave and bloody noble as his uncle. She wanted to thump Gandalf for not having a better plan. She wanted to find the nearest bed, curl up under it and cry until this whole mess was naught but a bad dream, and Fili would wake her up with kisses and coffee. She found herself still sitting there absently patting Wren's hand, while her thoughts and feelings whirled nine hundred different directions.

"Well, we're doing no good sitting here." Wren gave herself a decisive nod. "We should at least see them off, shouldn't we?"

"Yes, yes you're right. Remind them they'd best come back in one piece. Right?"

Wren studied her friend, a small smile almost tweaking her lips. "Knowing you, you'd find a way to berate them in the Halls of Waiting."

"You'd beat me to it. Wouldn't stop me, but you'd find a way first." Beryl helped pull her friend up, and they went to see their dwarves off to battle.

It didn't take long for Oin to chase them out of the infirmary. There hadn't been time for any wounded to come in from the battle, and Oin had enough healers from the elves and men that Wren would not be missed. Since both she and Beryl were making the rest uncomfortable with their nervous energy, Oin suggested a walk on the battlements would help. They could see what could be seen of the battle from there.

Well, Wren could. Beryl was hunting a crate or a footstool or something. She finally settled for a somewhat stable rubble vaguely cubish in shape. It finally got her head over the crenelation enough to see the battle. She still couldn't make out much. They looked to her like ants all muddled together.

"Wren, I can't make out anything. Can you?"

"The lines have engaged." Wren stared intently at the distant brawl, a frown settled between her brows and on her mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, but where's our guys?" Beryl was hopping on her perch, trying to get a better view. "How are they doing?"

A gasp was her only answer, and she felt swept up in a golden, silent, kaboom. Well, it may not have been silent, because Beryl felt her ears ringing. No, it was the cries of eagles! Apparently, Gandalf had called in a favor, as huge Eagles swept over the battle, and the orcs finally broke ranks.

A distant, familiar roar filled the air, and Beryl's head popped over the edge long enough to see a massive bear, easily twice as large as the brethren that followed him, crush a distant figure in his jaws. An Eagle swooped low and picked up a familiar figure in his claws. Wren's own gasp matched Beryl's. Thorin was being winged back to them. Both women raced for the infirmary. Beryl only hoped it wasn't already too late.


	66. Retrievals and Recoveries

**A/N: Winding down, peeps! I hope I didn't worry too many of you. Really, not my intention. Afterall, there's two very spoilerific oneshots right here in my gallery. ;) I think there's exactly one more chapter after this, and then you can read it in all its unbeta'd glory.**

**I'm hoping this means I can finally put the final chapters on some of my other fics, as well as finally get somewhere on Sunny Side Up with kkolmakov. It's a new collab we've got up on Archive of Our Own. Take star trek, and put Hobbit inspired characters in, and stir. ^_^**

* * *

"How is he?" Wren was all business, bustling into the room and straight to Thorin's side to see for herself. Wisely, the attendees quickly cleared her path, and gave her a quick rundown of his injuries. Conversation around Thorin quickly evolved into healer jargon thick enough to boggle the mind. It was clear, though, that however grievous Thorin's injuries, they weren't insurmountable, and both Wren and the other healers had it well in hand. Beryl moved on to other concerns. Namely, what had happened, and where were Fili and Kili?

"What happened out there, Gandalf?" Of course he'd come to the infirmary when Thorin was brought in. She wouldn't be surprised to learn he'd carried him in himself.

"The orcish ranks would not break, thanks to their cave trolls, and Thorin led the charge that broke them. He then faced Bolg on the field. Fili and Kili held his flanks so none could aid the Gundabad orc, while Dwalin guarded his back." Gandalf raised a questioning eyebrow at Beryl. "Strangely enough, the moment Bolg struck Thorin, every orc and troll on the field was tumbled helplessly by a wave of Golden light, leaving all the men, elves, and dwarves untouched. I think you saw for yourself Bolg's end in Beorn's jaws, and the Eagles harrowing the forces of Gundabad off the field?"

"So Wren's magic?"

"Saved Thorin's life. I've no doubt of it." Gandalf puffed contentedly on his pipe, while Beryl shifted restlessly on her feet. The old codger was trying to outwait her. She could tell by the crinkles around his eyes he was enjoying toying with her immensely, the cad.

"Well! Tell me the rest? Where's the rest of my dwarves, then?" Beryl caved, of course. Her Fili was more important that dignity, apparently.

"Don't you mean, 'where's Fili?" Gandalf chuckled. "They're in the Main Hall, of course. With Thorin in the Infirmary, Fili is having to sort allies and wounded."

"There's sorting to be done? And no one told me?"

"Well, I am telling you now, of course." Honestly, cheerful wizards were twice as impossible as curmudgeonly wizards. Beryl turned her tired toes towards the Main Hall, hoping to find her Fili at last.

"So there we were, facing a shield wall four deep, and bristling with jagged pikes, and what does Thorin have us do? He has Dwalin and Gloin toss chained balls over our heads, and pile in behind them. Breaking balls! Can you believe he had them march those all the way out here?" Beryl couldn't believe it. There her Blonde Scamp was, cheerful as you please with a bloody bandage wrapped around his chest and over his shoulder, and he sat there jawing as happy as a clam. She didn't know if she wanted to thump him or hug him. She settled for both.

The room slowly quieted as she approached them. Apparently, she wasn't wearing the happiest of expressions. Even Fili fell quiet, giving her a sheepish smile. "Hello Love, I came back safe, see?" She managed to hold her fierce expression for all of five seconds longer, and then she threw herself into his arms, hugging and scolding him by turns for scaring her.

"Safe? Does this bandage look like you came back safe?" Beryl got scared and angry all over again, as she realized she had to be careful where she poked him in the chest.

"It's not that bad, that elven healer said I won't need it by the end of the fortnight?"

Beryl sniffed dismissively. "I'll be the judge of that, thank you. Blood's already seeping through, see? I bet you've pulled stitches."

Beryl chivvied her Blond Scamp back to the Infirmary. Where Oin took one look at the soaked bandages, and read Fili the riot act. "What were you doin'? Dancing jigs? Now I've to pull these out and put in new ones." Oin beetled his fierce brows at Beryl. "And I'll expect you to keep him settled, no gadding about."

"Don't give me that. Had someone gotten me first when he was treated, you wouldn't have to be doing this now." Oin's brows rose.

"No one sent for you?"

"Not a soul, and I was in here when Thorin was brought in. Gandalf had me go search him out in the Main Hall."

"Interesting." Oin's brows wiggled as if he had more to say, but busied himself cleaning Fili's wounds and stitching them closed again. "So, are Dain and his army settled in?"

"Aye, and rather quickly done, I might add." Fili looked very pleased with himself.

"It must have been quick, since I found you flailing about storytelling and drinking." Beryl grumped.

"I'm surprised Dain's not down here making a pest of himself with Thorin."

"Oh, he tried, but Wren put him out on his ear. Politely, of course. No one is to disturb Thorin until he's well enough." Oin chuckled merrily, although his hands remained steady in their stitching.

"I'm guessing it'll be Wren deciding the whens and whyfors?" Beryl had a hard time keeping her own merriment down. She chewed her bottom lip in an effort to keep the grin at bay.

"Aye, and I doubt even Gandalf would try to cross her right now."

"I wouldn't take that bet." Fili winced as Oin jabbed a bit harder with the needle than Fili felt necessary.

While Fili was being seen to by Oin, Beryl went to check on the rest of her dwarves. She found Dwalin easily enough: just follow the bellowing. She sombered immediately, upon seeing what he was doing. Someone had to gather the fallen and see to them. Men, elves, and dwarves were being sorted from the orcs, wargs and trolls. The latter were put to a pyre, while the former were cleaned and wrapped, to be interred as their customs demanded. Dwalin was handling the actual retrieval of their dead, while Balin was talking to the Elves and Men.

It pretty much went that way for the rest of her day. Each of her dwarves were off doing something necessary and suited to their skills. Bombur she found in the kitchens, seeing to a celebration for their success. There would be overtones of a proper wake: celebrating the lives and sacrifices of the fallen as much as 'thank Mahal I'm still alive'.

Well, all of that was handled, what was left for Beryl to do. That's when she ran into Tauriel and Kili. "What are you doing here, instead of with Fili?" Looking at the way the two were cuddled together, it was clear what the dwarf was hinting at.

"I was...I was.." really, what was she doing? Her dwarves were fine, Erebor was fine, and somebody had to make sure that Scamp stayed still long enough to heal. She drew herself up with all the aplomb a proper hobbit could muster. "Quite right, I'm headed to his rooms to make sure he stays abed right now." Never let it be said she couldn't take a hint. She gave the snickers that followed her all the attention they deserved.

* * *

Oooooh, can't wait to see what happens! Please update soon this is possibly my favourite fanfic &amp; I hope there are many more chapters to come! ~Guest

I'm tryin, but it's slow going on the end chapters, apologies on it taking so long?

and uh, whoopsies? Though I'm toying with carrying this into LOTR, but goodness gracious, that's an undertaking!~Wynni


	67. That's All She Wrote

**A/N: I can't believe it! It's done! Yea holy hannah! I finished ! Hopefully, this wraps up everyone's questions, while leaving room for oneshots and (if i'm insane enough) LOTR ,yeah. considering Broom took over a year, I'm thinking 'no' Who knows what the story monkey will decide in a month or so.**

**MEANWHILE! Over on AO3, Sunny Side Up is in production! StarTrek plus Hobbit, what could possibly go wrong, right? kkolmakov also has 'Fairy Wars" over there as well. Definitely worth the looksee. If you enjoyed Wren here, by all means, check out her stuff on her writing site **

**As usual, guest reviews and responses at the bottom.**

* * *

Beryl drew a deep breath, and looked out over the flowering valley. In the twenty years she'd been here, she'd seen many changes. She'd watched the dragon wastes flower and fruit under her care. She didn't do it all herself, of course. Many hands tilled the earth between Erebor and Laketown. Men, elves, and even some of the dwarves put hand to plow to bring back the green riches that were the natural right of the Dale.

Almost every dream she envisioned on that long ago ride had now come real, and she could rightfully say she'd turned Erebor and Dale into her own cozy garden. With the return of the greenery, so too bloomed the long dormant kingdom of Men. Bard was proving himself a most able leader, and Bain seemed to diligently follow his footsteps. Even little Tilda had made work for herself, keeping a cote especially for thrushes, who had become the Dale king's willing messenger service.

The mountain itself could be said to have flowered in that time. Quartz skylights allowed natural light deeper into the mountain than even Beryl had thought possible. Planters now adorned most levels, bringing with them fresher and sweeter air. In some cases, fruit trees provided handy snacks for tired dwarves and growing dwarflings alike.

Erebor was alive with dwarflings, it seemed. Wren had been crowned and wed to Thorin soon after the week long celebrations for winning the Battle of Five Armies had ended. Their first child, Thror, came along exactly ten months to the day. Dis just missed being there for the birth of her first nephew, but she was front and center for the three that followed: Una, Dain, and Othin. Thror's birth heralded a veritable dwarfling boom, including Beryl's little addition. Which compared in no way to the astonishment all felt when Tauriel found herself in the family way. The Durin family tree was sprouting fresh branches all over the place.

Beryl had discovered her own personal surprise on a long overdue visit back to the Shire. As a wedding present, Fili accompanied her on the long trek to her childhood home. He nearly pulled a blade on Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, for daring to call his wife an imposter. Thankfully, that was avoided with the quick intervention of her cousin Drogo and his new wife Primula.

Beryl had the unusual pleasure of having herself undeclared dead. Once that bit of disturbing business was dealt with, Beryl settled in to have a pleasant month long visit with her extended relations. She was too unconventional now for most of the Shire, so that meant spending most of her time with the Brandybucks and Tooks.

It was Primula's knowing look over the fifth morning Beryl lost her second breakfast that finally gave Beryl a clue. She was carrying her first child with Fili. That was surprise enough, but it wasn't the only surprise she discovered. She didn't fit anymore.

Oh, she was welcome, sure enough, but little things no longer fit the same way: chairs that were a touch too snug, dresses a bit too constricting, and everyone seemed just a wee bit...shorter. Beryl finally settled down and compared her current measurements against the ones took down for some new skirts and waistcoats from before she left on her unexpected journey. Somehow, she had gained an inch in height and a quarter inch across her shoulders. These sorts of things did not happen to a hobbit in her thirties, thank you very much.

It was simply further proof of a truth she'd already known, her home was not in the Shire anymore, not when she was married to Fili. She gifted Bag End to Drogo and Primula. They were just starting out, and Beryl felt they probably would need the space more than she needed a whole home just for the rare occasional visit. They were both appropriately bowled over, and Beryl made sure to introduce them properly to the Gamgee family. She had worked hand in glove with them for ages, and wanted to make sure everyone would get along. It both stung and relieved her a bit that Gaffer Gamgee might actually have preferred them over her.

In any case, she felt like she had tied up all loose ends with the Shire, and would now only occasionally need to visit once in a great while. Letters, of course, would be exchanged regularly. She'd gotten Old Roac's word on it.

Familiar steps on the terrace behind her prompted Beryl out of her thoughts. "The Arkenstone changed me, didn't it? You've only to look at Aila, Frerin, and little Bungo to guess. Nor do I look a thing like a hobbit in her mid fifties ought. What did it do? Even Elrond's libraries couldn't tell me." She had hunted, every trip back to the shire, to and from, she had hunted avidly through the library.

"If I had to hazard a guess, I would surmise the stone awoke your dwarf heritage." A familiar and comfortable smoke ring floated over Beryl's head, accompanying the old wizard's words. "Is that so terribly bad? If I recall correctly, you once worried you'd leave Fili to face the long centuries without his one."

"Well, when you put it that way…" A raven flitted down to land on the railing Beryl had been resting on, looking out over the blooming countryside.

"My Lady, your presence is requested down on the Long Lake." The bird bobbed his head. "If it please you, you've been requested to bring 'the bright stick'."

Beryl felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Only one person ever called her quarterstaff that. "Master Gandalf, you will accompany me, won't you?"

"My dear Beryl, need you really ask?" Gandalf tapped out his pipe and stored it back in its place on his staff, offering his arm to help her up from her bench by the rail.

They were still yards away when Beryl sank into her pony's saddle, wishing she could simply hide in Fili's arms as she had all those years ago. She could use that wall of comfort and strength just now. There on the docks, glaring balefully at all the men around him with those oversized and incredibly lambent eyes, was Hissycroaker. Her gasp of recognition did not go unnoticed.

"You recognize that creature?" Gandalf's voice was a welcome source of comfort.

"Gandalf, do you recall our bee pasture conversation about the ring? Do you remember me talking about the once hobbit? The one I called a 'hissycroaker'? That's him. What's he doing here?"

"I find myself preoccupied with those same questions, my fine hobbit." Gandalf narrowed his gaze. "Let us see what brings the wretched creature hither." The wizard and the hobbit cautiously approached the now flailing hissycroaker and the three guards barely holding him.

"Where is it? Where's my precious! We heards it! We did! It screamed and howled! It did, and now it's almost quieteses!" The scraggly pale limbs thrashed in all directions when Beryl drew near, the words nearly lost in the hissing and spitting. When he finally subsided in those long drawn gulping noises that turned her stomach, she finally pieced some sense out of his words. Beryl clutched Gandalf's sleeve with two shaking fists.

"You heard it scream and howl?" Gandalf's brows drew close over his eyes, apparently, that was serious news.

"Yes!" The answer was as much spit as words.

"What is it?" Beryl wondered what Gandalf was after. He already knew it was a ring. What more did he need?

"My precious!" Another reluctant answer.

"What is 'your precious'?"

"My birthday present, my precious, my pretty precious birthday ring!" Hissycroaker laid on the docks as if spent from an exhausting run.

"He felt it? All the way from the Misty Mountains?" Beryl whispered fiercely to Gandalf. She wished Fili were here, but duty called, and he was out on some diplomatic thing with some merchant clan of dwarves in the Grey Mountains.

"I may be gone awhile." Gandalf looked wan and pale, something she'd never thought she'd see. "It seems I may have misguided you during our talk in the bee pasture, and that worries me no little bit. There are things I must research, but not even Elrond's fine library holds the information I need for this riddle." Gandalf gestured sternly to the men holding Hissycroaker. "Hold fast to him, even if you must cage him to keep him. I may need to speak with him again upon my return, and he is no innocent creature."

"That we guessed. He's caused no little mischief already. He'll be in gaol when you get back, never fear." The one guard saluted as Gandalf remounted his horse and flew towards the western road.

"Where do you think he is going?" Beryl asked. "And why did I need to bring my quarterstaff?" Beryl casually twirled it in her hands.

"T' answer your first question, that quarterstaff scares this one like nothing else has. If you'll accompany us, we can put this fine fellow to bed until Gandalf wants him." Beryl nodded, and followed carefully as they guards started walking, mostly dragging, Hissycroaker to their jail. "To answer your second question. My guess would be he's headed for the Great Libraries in Gondor. That road will take him to a river that will just about land him on their doorstep." The guards, with Beryl keeping close watch, finally locked Hissycroaker into the dwarfen strong prison chamber. "You'll keep well enough here. The bars are too close even for you to slip through, and we'll bring you three meals a day, and all the fresh water you can drink."

"I don't wants it, I wants my precious! You little thief! What did you do with it? Where's my precious? Where is it!" Hissycroaker continued on in such a fashion, not even giving Beryl a chance to answer were she so inclined. She left.

Beryl hoped Gandalf returned sooner than later. Since her part was done, she bowed to the poor guards left listening to that railing, and went back to her home and children, waiting for their evening with Amad.

"There you are! I was worried I had gotten back early just to miss you on some grand adventure!" There Fili was to meet her, strong and welcoming as always. Beryl snuggled in against his chest.

"It was only a little adventure, this time. Well, it might be a bigger adventure for Gandalf." At Fili's curious expression, Beryl relayed everything said from the raven on the terrace to Hissycroaker's wails in the cell.

"Well, at least it looks as though we're well shut of that dreadful creature." Fili rubbed her arms in a comforting manner, soothing away the chill the encounter had left behind. "Gandalf will no doubt find out whatever it is, and deal with it as he always does. I doubt he'll need our help for that." Here Fili turned a mollified Beryl around in his arms and planted a quick kiss on her nose. "I think the only adventure we need worry about now is getting our three littles in bed. What say you?"

Looking over his shoulder at their children, Beryl snickered. Fili quite probably had bitten off more than he could chew. Their oldest, Aila was holding forth atop a low settle, brandishing her wood practice axe and promising dire consequences on any orc or warg that dared come near her. Frerin was on all fours and stalking the settle, howling and growling in his fiercest imitation of a warg. The baby, Bungo, was happily clapping two wooden blocks together, and kicking the rest every which way and giggling about it.

Her children, she found, didn't quite age as slowly as dwarves, but not as quickly as hobbits, either. Aila, with her golden ringlets and bright brown eyes, was nearly twenty winters old. However, she matured at much more dwarvish rate, which put her closer to a hobbit's ten. Frerin, with brook brown curls and blue eyes, was ten, and appeared for all the world to be about five by hobbit standards. Bungo, her miniature Fili, was nearly two years old, and was just beginning to walk on his own.

Beryl turned her attention back to her patiently waiting husband. "I don't know, Fili, that may be a tall order. We may have to tire them out, first." He gave her a squeezing hug in reply.

"Did I ever tell you thank you?" Beryl leaned back so she could look up into serious blue eyes.

"Thank me? Whatever for?"

"For agreeing to come with us, for marrying me, to agreeing to this…" Fili waved at their children, still happily playing wargs and warriors. "I did not know how poor my life was until you became a part of it."

"Oh Fili." She would not cry, she wouldn't! "You've enriched my life, in so many ways. I'm a mother now, with a family of my own, and that," Beryl sniffed, dast it! "That is worth more than all the gold in Erebor."

* * *

Chookhen:It would be quite interesting to see the LOTR version...  
Love the story, keep it up!

~well, this is the last chapter, sorries. However, feel free to look through my gallery, and see if anything else catches your eye. Don't forget, we're working on Sunny Side up, too, on AO3. So, hopefully, you find something there?

H20girl chapter 66 . Oct 11

What a great &amp; wonderous (&amp; spellcheck made it out as 'onerous' the first time... glad I  
caught that!) &amp; fun tale! O please continue!

~ummmmmmmm. *hugs* thanks for enjoying this story so much. Once i've caught my breath, we'll see what comes next.

Thank you to every reviewer and every reader. You made this project positively magical, and i could not have finished it without your constant support and encouragement. Love you all, thank you!


	68. Pirate Preview

**AN: Hello lovelies, didja miss me? I certainly missed you guys. kkolmakov and I are at it again, taking our favorite Tolkien characters, swapping them around a bit, and plunking them smack dab in the middle of Captain Blood's world, sorta. Have fun guessing who's who. Some are easy, some aren't. This story will be updating on kkolmakov's profile, since we're only allowed to post it once. Enjoy this little preview, then hie thee on over to her page for updates.**

* * *

Stern brown eyes kept watch on the massive slaveship, _The Gundabad._ If the scuttlebutt was good, it was filled to bursting with coin and other easily disbursed goods from a fat profit in Charleston. As low in the water as _The_ _Gundabad_ was sitting, Captain Briallen Davis of _The Hind Wind_ was thinking they'd hit payload.

"Ready the broadsides! Ten pounders only! We don' wan' 'ter sink 'er until after we've looted her dry!" Briallen called down to her crew, awaiting orders. Her curly brown hair was tied back, but that didn't keep the mess at bay. Tiny wisps danced about her head in the lofting breeze that was making the sails over their heads snap.

"You heard the captain! Move it!" Eowyn moved purposefully among the crew. Eowyn still carried herself with military precision, even though she'd left that life long ago to join Davis' crew. Briallen often loudly envied the bird for the neat blonde braid that never ravelled. It laid obediently along her straight spine as she checked to see that only the tens were being loaded. _The Hind Wind_ stocked five twenty pounders, but those rarely saw play. No profit in sinking a ship before it could be looted. "Gretel, we said nothing but the tens."

Gretel Gloinson held her ground, never mind the cold shivers that were probably running her spine from Eowyn's icy blue eyes. "The chains, see?" Gretel held up a pair of tens with a thick chain between them. "I picked them up in Tortuga. This would clear the deck or sails easy."

Eowyn stood there, as if considering Gretel's proposal. "I see, they clear the deck, possibly damage the sails… then how do we sail our prize, if that's the captain's final objective?"

"Um..." The sturdy ginger pirate didn't have an answer.

"As I thought. Gretel, to your post, now."

"Aye aye."

* * *

The battle was short and brutal. Broadsides were exchanged at almost too close a range for the preternaturally good helmsman to do any good, but still they found enough wind and room to turn into most of the shots from _The Gundabad_, letting them bounce off the reinforced sides Gretel had talked her into. Briallen had worried Gretel's improvements were going to sink her fine ship, yet _Hind Wind_ floated and survived encounters she'd not thought possible. It was probably the best bet she ever lost. It had been worth buying the bottomless German's rounds that night.

Her ship did not escape unscathed, though. Not even Layla of the Long Arms could turn against every volley. They would be putting into port shortly for repairs, but they were still floating high, while _The Gundabad_ had started to list heavily.

They needed to board, get their loot, and get off. They would not be claiming _The Gundabad_ as a prize ship, she'd be berthing soon in Davy Jones' locker.

"Boarding party ready?" Briallen looked about her. Each one had a hook and line, ready to make fast to the other ship. "We get our loot, and get out. Any longer, and we run the risk of joining them down below. Brigid!" Briallen turned to her Second Mate, a large Irish named O'Bean. "You watch the lines. The moment our ship starts listing with _The Gundabad_, you cut the ropes."

A round of angry chatter met her order. "No! I'll not risk my crew nor my ship any more than I already have on that scurvy hog of a ratfaced codswallop. I mean it! First list, cut the lines. We can swim for it if we must.'

"As you say, captain." Brigid's face wasn't the mask of impassiveness Eowyn had cultivated. The worry sat heavy between her dark brows.

"Buck up, Brigid! I'm not asking you to abandon us, just make sure _The Gundabad_ doesn't drag my ship down with it."

"Aye, captain."

"Ready? Let's go rob a robber." Briallen hooked an arm in one of the long hanging lines, and swung herself across. The hook she threw with the other hand easily found purchase on the gunwhale, and sank firmly into the wood. "Take to yer knees, an' I might let you scurvy dogs live. Fight, and meet yer end on my blade!" Never let it be said Briallen didn't enjoy the dramatic flair of the pirate's life.

The first of the slaver's crew swung at her with a heavy sword, cutting deep into the gunwhale she just came over. The poor man seemed incapable of real speech, just grunts and snarls. Briallen wondered what sort of ship Azog was running. She deftly parried, rolled around the slaver, and kicked his feet out from under him, slashing him across the throat when he splayed out on the seawashed deck. She looked about her, Eowyn using that military precision to devastating effect. She looked to be on her third, while Gretel, who still insisted axes were more fun, was merrily backing two enemy crew into a corner against the gundeck. Briallen found herself strangely free.

Which begged the question: where was Azog? Where was the fearsome captain of _The Gundabad_? Briallen went hunting.

* * *

The first place Briallen looked was the captain's cabin. Obviously, either he was here defending his most prized possessions, or perhaps gathering them to escape while his poor crew bought him time.

She fully expected to find the vile captain. She did not expect to see him with a blackened eye, scratched face, and dragging a highly perturbed and valiantly struggling young woman.

"Why Azog, it's been ages. I must say, you look vastly improved."

Briallen was ready, as usual. Azog barreled right into a lunge - no talking, no fuss - just shoved the poor girl he'd been manhandling down, and plowed right into combat.

She deftly deflected his first attack, using his own momentum to shove him off stride with a solid kick to the rear as he passed her. His flailing swipe was also easy to dance back from, as the deck rolled alarmingly under their feet as the list steepened. Briallen couldn't afford a dragged out fight. Much as she loved the sea, she was not dressed for a swim, and heaven only knew if the poor girl could swim or not.

Briallen dodged the next attack, looking for the necessary opening to end the fight quickly. There, the next swing, his stance was too wide and his neck wide open too long, Briallen's cutlass cut cleanly through Azog's neck, and sent his cabbage - pointy ears, and shark like teeth - rolling to a stop by the railings. She kicked it neatly over the side, not even waiting for the splash to go check on the young woman. She refused to waste any guilt on Azog's end. Too many good sailors had lost their lives to him. Let him be just another bit of lost flotsam.

"Now what's a nice lady like you doin' on a filthy slaver like this?" Briallen offered her a hand up. It was clear from the milky white skin, now covered in bruises and scratches, and the fine dress, torn and dirtied beyond repair, that the young woman in question was Quality. No amount of rough handling could hide that proud carriage or dainty manners. Briallen hoped the rope burns around the girl's ankles and wrists didn't leave her a permanent reminder. Briallen felt her own wrist itch in memory.

"You're a woman..." the girl breathed out. Eyes like the finest fire topaz peeped out of a long, tangled, and vibrant mass of red hair. Briallen did not envy her the time it would take to clean and tame that bramblepatch, though Leyla and Sammy both would probably have hissy fits until it was done.

"Congratulations, you've been rescued by one of the few only female crews to sail these seas. I'm Captain Davis, at your service." Briallen pulled the girl on up to her feet.

"My name is Wren O'Leary, I was travelling to my… husband to Port Esgaroth. His name is Governor Bowman..." The redhead swayed, but tried to keep her back straight. "He'll pay good money for my return, Captain Davis."

"Well, Miss Leary, let me hand you off to my crew. I've still a ship to inspect before it sinks, and you look like you could use a rest and a wash before anything else can be done."

"What will happen to me? What will you do?" The girl couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice. She also didn't look like she'd been fed for weeks.

Captain Davis gave her a long look. "Feed you, clean you, and get you home. What did you think?"

"I'll keep my mouth shut, Captain." Despite the battered state, the girl managed a small but cheeky smile. "Why offend a kind host?"

Briallen threw her head back and laughed. "Miss Leary, I think I like you."

* * *

Briallen was watching carefully as her crew quickly emptied the holds of all its salvageable goods. It was a good haul, one that would cover not only this trip, but the next if it didn't pan out. She idly wondered what was keeping Billy and her little party in the bilge levels. If the pumps could keep them going just a little longer, they'd be able to empty the ship to its bare planks.

"Captain! Captain, come quick! Ye'll never guess what we've found below!" Briallen pulled herself erect from her slouch against the bulwark to see what Merry and Billie found this time.

"Now this is a curious sight." Who knew Azog even had a brig?

Yet there it was, water to their knees now; and a blonde, battered man sat in the rising water, hands and ankles chained together. Thank the good lord he wasn't chained to the wall. She didn't think even Gretel's axe could cut the thick timbers quickly enough to beat the rising waters.

"What did you do, to have Azog put you in here?" She was willing to give anyone a chance Azog felt needed caging. It also helped he was shackled. If he were a worse monster than Azog, all the easier to gut him.

"Could have been the insults to his mother, could have been the punch to the jaw, could have been the not coming quietly when he kidnapped me." She had to give him props. Few people could sound that jolly beat half to death and chained in a sinking ship. She still had her suspicions, but his manner and speech were enough she'd at least get him off this sinking ship. She could always toss him overboard later if the situation warranted.

"Alright then, sounds like I owe you a drink or three. Shall we reconvene our conversation on my ship?" Briallen took the nearby key from the wall, and turned the rusted lock. It groaned, but finally opened.

"Does it come with complimentary key service?"

"Sadly, no, that's going to have to wait until we can get you to a proper blacksmith with proper tools. You do not want us making shift on a rocking boat that close to your hands and feet." She didn't care for how he narrowed his eyes at her, as if he were weighing her words. Did he really think she'd waste time searching a sinking ship for keys, when they were only a few days from port and a proper blacksmith?

"S'truth." He seemed to settle a little, when she didn't offer any more.

"Come on then. We can get you cleaned, fed, and maybe some of those wounds tended on _The Hind Wind_."

"_Hind Wind_?!" Blondie wheeled back, the corner of the brig catching him up. Bilge water splashed Briallen's face. It reeked of all the things the crew hadn't been cleaning out down below. She was grateful she was planning on bathing herself anyways tonight.

"What, man! What's got into you?" She tilted her head at him. "Would you rather drown in this stinking filth then?" Briallen gestured to the rising water, and the open door. "At least on _The Hind Wind_, you've a fighting chance against whatever's got you spooked. Here, it's cold water, filth, and Davy Jones." She backed away from the door, giving him room to pass. She could only roll her eyes as he flinched passing her. The man could quip about Azog, but she scared him?

But a rapidly sinking ship was surely no place for long blather, and soon she chivvied him across to her own serenely floating haven.

_**To be continued...**_


	69. New Booty Up

Hey y'all. For whatever reason, Fanfiction dot net is having issues notifying people when a new chapter is uploaded on kkolmakov's account.

In other words: there's a new chapter of Booty up, but you probably haven't seen a note about it.

yes, she's told support. No, they've not answered her yet.

here's hoping they fix that soon.

In the meantime, New Booty is up!


End file.
